


Chamber Play

by naboru



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Comedy, Crack, Dark, Dubious Consent, Energy Field Sexual Interfacing, Gen, Interrogation, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensor Net Manipulation, Smut, Space Play, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, twisted fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blades gets taken prisoner by the Decepticons. But not all on the Nemesis is as he expected, and he ends up stuck with someone he could live without.</p><p><span class="u">About the title:</span> a chamber play is play of usually three acts which can be performed with a small cast and practically no sets or costumes in a small space. [<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chamber_play">Source</a>]</p><p>Characters and tags will be added in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AppleCrumble1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleCrumble1/gifts).



> **Chapter:** 1  
>  **Continuity:** G1  
>  **Rating:** whole fic: R; this chapter PG  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty

Onslaught tugged on the chains attached to Blades’ wrists, and almost caused him to stumble. Great. The last thing the Autobot wanted was to fall flat on his face when all the Decepticons were watching.

Not that many Decepticons were in the hallways of the Nemesis just then, but it was a matter of principle.

An annoyed huff puffed from Blades’ vents, and Onslaught tilted his head slightly, his visor gleaming for an astrosecond. But the Combaticon leader kept quiet.

Wordlessly, he opened a door, signalling Blades to enter a dark room.

The Autobot’s processor clocked fast, calculating potential escape plans, and the chance to get away at the moment Onslaught was distracted. But even though Blades was known to be reckless, he wasn’t stupid enough to try any of this.

Instead, he reluctantly stepped in the room, and was surprised.

It seemed occupied. At the middle of the opposite wall was a berth, next to it a desk with a few datapads. A bit further down from it, at the wall next to the door, there was something resembling the sofa the Protectobots had in their rec-room.

“Get in!” Onslaught growled. And Blades winced, much to his dismay.

Having stepped in further and made room for Onslaught, the Decepticon closed and locked the door.

“Sit down there.” Another growl when Onslaught pointed at the couch. This show of authority grated on Blades, and he’d love to have snapped something back. He resisted, knowing it was for the better, and sat down. He glared at the Combaticon, trying to hide his discomfort.

He was in private quarters, that much was obvious, with a Decepticon and a locked door. His jaw clenched as denta ground and his fingers flexed nervously - a habit he could never quite suppress.

Contrary to Blades' expectations, the Combaticon only touched him when he attached another chain to his feet. Then he fastened the chain to something at the corner of the wall, and activated the energon stream in it. It tickled on Blades’ ankle, but the sensation faded soon.

“Don’t pull too much on it, or you’ll get shocked,” Onslaught said on his way out.

The door slid shut, leaving Blades alone in the foreign, dark room. The glow of his optics and the brief flickers of energon of the restraint were the only light source. The gloomy atmosphere made him uncomfortable, and his mind wandered.

Pulling at the chain once, a surge of pain travelled up his leg. It was like spilled acid on his plating. Blades leant over the armrest of the couch, looking at the fastened chain. Little sparks of electricity rushed over the mechanism on the wall. It didn’t appear as though it would be easy to loosen.

He sat up straight again, and waited, glancing around warily.

It didn’t look like Soundwave’s quarters. Blades doubted the weird Decepticon communications officer had a room with tools on the desk, and some device he hadn’t seen before. There were also datapads on the night stand, and an empty energon cube.

Blades frowned, and hoped it wasn’t Vortex’ room. His rotors gave another twitch. Chained to the wall in a dark, the Protectobot couldn’t imagine a worse place to meet the psycho ‘copter.

The soft covering of the sofa rustled as he shifted slightly. The sound was noisy in the quiet room. At least the hum of the Nemesis’ systems was familiar. If Blades offlined his optics, he could imagine he was in the Ark.

The door opened.

“Lights,” a blank voice said, causing Blades’ optics to switch on again.

It wasn’t the Combaticon heliformer entering the room. It was the shuttle. A bulk of brown, purple and black metal, and all Blades knew about him was the frightening change between size of root and alt-mode and the destructive cannons.

He wasn’t sure if he’d rather have been in Vortex’ quarters.

The shuttle didn’t seem to have noticed Blades yet. He went to the computer console to Blades’ left, and turned it on, typing something on it before he deactivated it again. Then he sat down on the berth. The shuttle’s hand was huge; he rubbed his neck as he glanced around.

Blades’ systems stopped working for the fraction of the astrosecond when it was clear the shuttle saw him.

Like the heliformer, the Combaticon froze.

“Uh,” Blades raised a hand, the chain on his wrist rattled. “Hi?”

The shuttle just stared. His parted visor looked as though it was about to pierce through Blades’ head.

Without a word, the shuttle got abruptly up, and left the room.

“O _kay_ ,” the Protectobot uttered, raising his optical ridges.

He shuffled back on the couch and leant against the backrest, pulling his feet up. The waiting grated on him, but at least there was light now.

The kliks ticked by, then the breems. Two and a half to be precise, before the door opened once more.

Heavy steps of the heavy mech entering made Blades’ fuel pump stop for a moment. The purple visor was bright, but Blades couldn’t see the optics beneath. Neither could he tell from the stance of the shuttle if he was angry. Only the engine revving to a low, deep rumble indicated that the mech wasn’t pleased.

For the moment, Blades was glad he wasn’t part of his gestalt.

“You won’t touch anything,” the Combaticon said. “You will not talk unless it’s necessary, and you will remain on that couch. If you dare wander around, I’ll weld you to the wall. Do you understand?”

Taken aback, Blades nodded.

The Combaticon huffed, and turned. Next to the berth, he tapped against a plate on the wall, and then pushed. It got loose, revealing cables, and a stack of energon cubes.

“Vector Sigma,” he muttered almost unintelligibly.

It was obvious that something happened that Blades should be aware of. Only that he wasn’t and he had no idea what was going on. Wasn’t he going to be interrogated?

“So,” he began carefully, “what happens now?”

“What did I tell you about the talking?”

Wow, Blades winced, the shuttle really was moody. “I, uh, I know, but seriously. Are you gonna torture me? It’d be nice to know, you know, to prepare myself mentally and stuff.”

Even with the battle mask withdrawn, the other’s bare face plates didn’t give much away. Only his voice hinted at disgust. “Why do you think that? I’m not Vortex, for pit’s sake.”

“Uh, okay then.” Blades shrugged. He fanned both his rotor blades up and pressed his back harder against the back of the couch. “What happens then?”

Another huff, a sound that so brief, but the most expressive mannerism of this mech so far. It almost sounded like an insult. “You stay there.” He sipped from his drink. “And I stay here. Got that?”

“No, not really.” What the frag was going on? The Protectobot felt like he was trapped in some weird human comedy movie. “Why am I here? Shouldn’t I be in a brig or bleak, dark chamber, or something?” He actually would rather be there than chained at the wall in a Decepticon’s quarters, let alone in a _Combaticon’s_ quarters, for frag’s sake.

“Yes, you should. But the brig is flooded.”

It was spoken so blankly and in a matter of fact way, for a moment Blades didn’t know if it was supposed to be a joke. But this mech didn’t look as though he was fond of jokes.

“Flooded?”

“Yes. Do I need to repeat everything I say? Flooded. By salt water, if I need to clarify that. Because we’re on the bottom of an ocean,” the shuttle said, the voice dripping with condescension that Blades would have loved to snap something back.

“And… you don’t have other rooms to lock me in than yours?” The Nemesis hadn’t looked that small to Blades.

Now, the mech sighed. It sounded tired, exhausted even, but also annoyed. “There are. But you’re our responsibility, since it was Brawl and Vortex who caught you.”

Blades shuddered at the words. He did remember all too well.

“And now,” the shuttle continued. “Megatron forbade us to use any other rooms but ours, because we knew the brig was unusable, and you and your gestalt destroyed our HQ. So we are forced to live in this sunken wreck until the repairs are done. If you see it like that, it’s your own fault.”

The mech seemed actually pretty angry about the destruction of their base, and that had to mean something if he didn’t usually show anything much at all. 

“Well, I didn’t get myself captured on purpose,” Blades countered.

“And I’m not the only reasonable mech in my team on purpose. So, since we both don’t like the situation, let’s pretend you’re not there which includes you being quiet.” The shuttle emptied his cube, and lay down. “Lights out.”

The room became dark once again.

The heavy mech on the berth shifted a few times, then the silence crawled over Blades.

This was awkward, and ridiculous, and unbelievable, but mostly horrible. He missed his team, and now that he tried to reach out to them, he couldn’t. They had put a device on him, under his plating, and it didn’t only jam his communication equipment, but also dampened the gestalt bond.

Blades glanced next to him at the empty space on the sofa. He didn’t feel like recharging.

He was lonely, and that with another mech in the room. Trying to recall whatever information he had on the Combaticon, Blades realised he didn’t know much. Until now, the shuttle hadn't really mattered unless he charged his cannons, which hadn’t happened often so far.

Maybe this was a trap, and they just expected him to fall asleep, only to catch him by surprise.

Blades’ intakes started hitching, he couldn’t stop them. He leaned his head on his knees.

He wouldn’t recharge all night. He was determined.

His blue optics staring at the motionless shadow on the berth, Blades waited.

He didn’t even know the shuttle’s name.

\---

Blades stirred.

Someone shook his shoulder, and an unfamiliar engine rumbled close to him.

His optics flickered twice before his systems calibrated the visual sensors and he saw dark plating. Legs, with a brown paintjob, his logic circuits reasoned, and it didn’t match any mech he knew.

His battle programming activated. Optics sharpened; their input slowed as more pictures per astrosecond were processed. Blades’ joints tensed, and he was about to reach for his gun. Mid-movement he stopped when he noticed the restraints around his wrists, and that was when his memory banks caught up with him.

He'd been captured, was held prisoner on the Nemesis, locked in the private quarters of a weapon of mass destruction.

Blades looked up, optics widened, and expecting the worst to happen, but the shuttle merely held out an energon cube.

His face was covered by his battle mask, and his posture gave nothing away of what he might think of Blades’ reaction.

“You’re going to take that now, or do I need to forcefully feed you?” The Combaticon’s voice was flat, but unimpressed, almost displeased. “I rather prefer you choose option one, because I’m not keen on the latter.”

With a brief nod, Blades took the cube out of the large hand, but didn’t drink.

The shuttle huffed, and turned, going to the berthside table and rummaging through the datapads.

It gave Blades the time to assess his situation, but just like the night before, he couldn’t make much sense of it. Least of all of the energon ration, the quarter cube that he held. Blades shifted into a more comfortable position. He’d slid half down the back rest when he’d gone into recharge. He’d tried to avoid it, but the exhaustion had claimed him eventually without his intent.

Eyeing the energon, then eyeing the Decepticon, Blades pondered on drinking. He needed to, but he was suspicious of the generosity. It could be poisoned, with additives in whose effect he could only guess.

He needed to find out if the energon was safe to drink, but he had no idea how.

Blades uttered the first thing that came to his mind. “Thank you.”

The shuttle looked up. “Don’t thank me,” he said; Blades thought he almost sounded like a drone with his way of speaking. “I’m only following orders. I didn’t give you the cube to stare at it.”

“I’m just wondering why you give me energon in the first place. Or are _ordered_ to give me energon.” Yes, Blades was almost proud of himself that he managed to subtly ask about the fuel, and that so shortly after waking up. “Do you treat all the prisoners like that?”

The shuttle shrugged. “Usually, the Decepticons avoid taking prisoners.”

Blades tensed.

“But we’re Combaticons,” the shuttle continued. “And I don’t know why Onslaught feeds you. Now drink, before I lose my patience.” 

That wasn’t the answer Blades wanted. He sniffed, carefully, trying to smell if something was off. The fumes tickled his olfactory sensors, and made his tanks ache. Not as reluctantly as he should have, he sipped. The energon was just like at home.

It was gone in six gulps.

Leaning back, his feet still on the couch, Blades kept hold of the cube. He expected something to happen, like an effect that normal energon wouldn’t cause, but two breems passed without anything changing.

Even the shuttle had barely moved in that time, only reading from a datapad while still sitting on the side of the berth.

It was quiet. Too quiet for Blades who wasn’t used to sitting still for that long if First Aid wasn’t in the room and snapped at him during repairs. Then at least he’d always been able to talk, to prod the gestalt bond, or make First Aid be startled or flustered.

Now, he could only sit there. Maybe he was supposed to do something and no one told him? The Autobots had never programmed any knowledge or taught them how to behave in captivity. Was Decepticon culture really that different?

“Uhm, you… there,” Blades still didn’t remember the shuttle’s name. “Are you going to do something?”

Large intakes vented an annoyed huff. This time, the Combaticon didn’t look up. “We had this topic just yesterday. No, I will not torture you, nor is my intent to beat you or harm you in any other way you're going to ask. And now be quiet.”

“So, I’m not like your pet or something? And have to clean your room and such?” Blades wouldn’t mind not having to clean anything. He didn’t particularly like cleaning.

The shuttle raised his head. “Do you think my quarters are dirty?”

This was not the reaction Blades had anticipated. “I, well, no. But-“

“No buts-“ Blades was interrupted, the other’s flat voice morphing into a stern growl. “Just sit there. Be quiet. It’s not my habit to utter idle threats. I have an arc-welder here, don’t tempt me to use it.”

Blades slumped. At least he didn’t need to scrub the floor, but this didn’t stop the ache of missing his team, and wanting to escape this awkward situation.

He wrapped his arms around his legs; his rotor blades bobbed now and then. He was unable to stop it. They always moved somehow when he felt unwell.

“I’m Blades,” he tried again after another breem. “I don’t know your name.”

“Vector Sigma.” The first reaction was an exaggerated, prolonged sigh. “Will you stay quiet if I tell you my name?” The shuttle glanced back at him over his shoulder, the visor gleaming in what probably was irritation.

“I will?” Blades wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep quiet, but it was better to agree. Then he could at least stop thinking of the mech as only ‘the shuttle’.

“Fine. I’m Blast Off. Don’t expect any pleasantries like ‘I’m happy to meet you’, because I’m not.”

The heliformer nodded once again, and thought to himself, neither am I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades thinks his imprisonment is so very boring. Then something happens, and he’d rather be just bored again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, attempted rape, violence, dark, angst  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Brawl, Swindle  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG-13

Time went by very slowly.

The first day was hardly bearable, and all Blades did was sit on the couch and think. Blast Off left the room a few times, once for several joors, but he hadn’t talked to him again.

The next day, eventually after ages, Blast Off addressed him once again when he gave him a quarter cube of energon. 

“Don’t sit like that,” he said, staring from above at Blades’ slouched position. “You’ll spill the energon all over my couch.”

Blades puffed air from his vents in a prolonged huff. During the last cycle, his fear and caution had significantly decreased, and he slowly found his way back to his reckless self. “And if I won’t sit straight, you’re going to weld me on the wall?”

“Excuse me?”

The shuttle didn’t sound like he hadn’t understood Blades, but the heliformer pondered on repeating it only to annoy the other. He could barely stop himself, but his answer wasn’t any less daring.

“I’m skilled like that. I can lazily sprawl over a couch and drink energon without spilling it. I can show you.”

There never was a verbal reply.

Blast Off reached for his throat and pulled him up. Blades’ cuffed hands came up to cling at his arm, but before he could do so, he was dropped back down again. His neck cables ached from the strain, even though it had been only for a fraction of an astrosecond. The change of position made Blades dizzy, and his optics flickered as Blast Off’s hand pushed him against the back rest.

The shuttle had leant low. He was so close now. As Blades’ visual input recovered, he could see the optics behind the visor glass.

“Watch what you’re saying. Don’t forget where you are,” the shuttle growled. His engine revved, and Blades could feel the vibrations through the hand that held him in place.

He clenched his jaw.

“Drink.” It was an order. Blast Off forced the cube into Blades' hand, and straightened up.

The short revival of Blades’ recklessness died down, and his discomfort increased. His optics followed Blast Off going to the computer console, working on it, while he sipped the energon slowly. It didn’t taste as good as yesterday, but it also could have been the sudden lack of appetite that made it taste bitter.

“You know,” Blades carefully began, attempting not to sound as insecure as he suddenly felt. “It’s pretty hard to remember where I am when I'm sitting on a couch and have to share a room with another mech during my imprisonment.”

“We’re not sharing a room,” the shuttle responded without looking at him. “Your hands are in cuffs. You are shackled to the wall. You have a very limited radius of movement in a room deep beneath the sea with enemies in every floor and hallway of this vessel. If I were you, I wouldn’t find it hard to remember where I am.”

Blades’ rotors wilted as he tried to keep sitting straight. “I just…” He wasn’t really sure what to say. Yes, he did feel alone, he missed his team. He was even still scared. Deep down, he knew what kind of situation he was in. “I just never expected being held prisoner would be like _this_ , you know.” He hadn’t expected to be ever a Decepticon prisoner at all, but he kept that to himself.

At that, the shuttle turned. The purple visor was fixed on Blades, and the stare made the heliformer shift on the sofa.

After a long while, Blast Off shook his head. He spoke up in a blank voice. “You should be glad it’s just like this. There are other methods of imprisonment you most certainly don’t want to experience.”

Blades didn’t know what he meant. It was probably better that way, but it did make the atmosphere more sinister.

He drank the last bit of the energon, and lay down, staring at the shuttle’s black back.

It was difficult not to think about the other Protectobots.

\---

Time morphed into an abstract concept within the room.

Blades couldn’t recharge regularly. He stayed up for joors past his waking cycle, and even then he couldn’t settle. There was nothing that needed to be defragged, and he didn’t need to recover his resources with having moved hardly at all.

During the following waking and recharge cycles – Blades decided to call it that, because they lasted longer than day and night – Blast Off wasn’t there most of the time. He came only to lie down on the berth. He never talked to Blades, never even looked at him. Even the energon cube was wordlessly handed over. 

The next time Blades woke up, the cube was placed in front of the sofa, and the shuttle was gone.

He wondered what Blast Off did during the time, but he probably was better off not knowing. Maybe they were preparing another raid, another fight with the Autobots – with Blades’ team – and he didn’t want to imagine that. How would First Aid and Groove get out unharmed if Blades wasn’t there, disobeying orders to take care his gestalt wouldn’t get hurt?

Blades nudged the cube with his pede. The energon moved, but the cube was nowhere near so full as that it could have spilled over. Today it did look as if it was fuller than the last time. Did they raise his ration? And if so, why?

Staring at the cube for a while - or only a klik, it was hard to tell with no perception of time - Blades' mind was blank. Even the sound of the Nemesis’ systems had become a static in the background that wasn’t a distraction any more, and the heliformer found himself in apathy.

This had to be how furniture felt all the time. Only they couldn’t move. Not that Blades could. He was forbidden, and he hadn’t set a foot on the floor after the first day. He’d always kept them on the sofa, either sitting or lying.

He didn’t want to be welded to the wall.

Blades glanced up at the berth.

But the shuttle wasn’t there right now.

Cautiously, as though he expected Blast Off to open the door any moment, he stared at it. Some more kliks ticked by, and Blades wanted to get up. He really wanted to, he could stand again, would be able to stretch, and maybe take a look at that weird device on the desk that he always saw when he lay on his side.

Blades didn’t stand up. As though subject to an invisible force that pushed him down, he remained on the couch.

“I can get up,” Blades said to himself, quietly, because his own voice was like a scream in the quiet room. “He won’t see me.”

Blades repeated the words a few times. Like a mantra to ensure no one would enter. He moved in slow motion, carefully, and finally set a foot on the ground. His optics darted back to the door, but it didn’t slide open.

Venting twice, Blades dared to get up.

His leg joints hurt. He was stiff, and he almost expected his hydraulic mechanisms to give in, or at least to creak unhealthily. They didn’t.

It was as if with moving again, the ban was taken off of him. The apathy almost vanished completely, and Blades stretched and flicked his rotors up and down.

He sighed, relaxing for the first time in days. It seemed Blast Off wouldn’t come back for yet another while. Time was overdue to test how wide Blades’ radius of movement really was.

Measuring, Blades went to the closest edge of the berth. He was even able to sit down.

The berth was comfortable, but still felt odd. Blades frowned, stroking over the surface with his palm. It was made of a completely different material than the berths they had in the Protectobot base.

The ‘copter shrugged it off, and stood up again. Glancing behind himself, he saw the berth altering, and the dented spot where he’d sat before smoothing out.

The furniture Blades knew didn’t do that. He wasn’t angry about it, since that way Blast Off wouldn’t find out he’d sat down on his precious berth.

Keeping an optic closely on the chain, Blades dared look around further. He couldn’t sit down at the desk, not right now, but if he moved the chair a little, it’d work. He could reach a few of the tools, and wasn’t that tempting?

Once again Blades glanced at the door, then back at the tools.

Why didn’t he dare get up earlier?

His own fear embarrassed him, and he was glad his team wouldn’t feel it.

From the desk, he walked to the door, and the chain pulled taut. The acidic feeling travelled up from Blades’ ankle, and he had to stretch his leg a little to get a bit closer to the door’s lock. The small control panel next to it was covered by a metal plate, and a red light blinked in a slow pace.

If Blades tried, he could reach it. But it was useless, because the panel didn’t open.

Someone outside spoke loudly, there was laughter, and heavy steps. Blades froze. He knew this was the exactly wrong reaction.

The steps became even louder, closer, and that was when Blades snapped out of it. He jumped back to the sofa, tugging the chain towards him so that it didn’t lie where it shouldn’t be.

More voices rose, there was a bellowed command, and slowly the noises ebbed.

“Frag…” Blades muttered, and buried his face in his hands. If every tiny sound made him nervous like that, he’d need a good plan to escape. 

He was brave enough to get up once again to take close-up scans of the door panel and the tools; for the rest of his waking cycle, he analysed them.

Blades went to sleep before Blast Off came back.

\---

Something touched Blades’ shoulder.

In the first moment of barely being conscious, he thought it might be Blast Off again.

But the touch moved further down to his intakes and then let go.

Blades onlined his optics.

The room was still dark, and all he could make out were two shapes in front of him. More legs, too many legs for one person.

His head turned swiftly.

“Look, he’s awake.”

Blades didn’t know whose voice it was, and it didn’t matter. He went rigid as one of the shadows reached out to his rotors.

“Heh, that makes it more fun,” someone answered, unnecessarily loud that it made Blades even more uncomfortable.

A pair of optics and a visor stared down at him, and for the moment, it seemed time came to a halt.

It was when Blades tried to sit up that it escalated.

Two strong hands pushed him down while something was pressed against his throat. A flash of light brightened the room for the fraction of an astrosecond in which a painful surge crept from Blades’ throat through him. His visual input cut out, and when he wanted to scream in agony, he couldn’t. Only static left his vocaliser, and his hands were caught as he tried to push the mech away.

It all was futile, and the bulkier statue sat down on the couch, on Blades’ legs and lent over him. The orange visor was all the ‘copter could see.

“You think Blast Off’s had his fun with him already?”

Blades’ ventilation picked up. He struggled.

He should have taken a tool, not just looked at them and taken pictures to analyse. He could have used them as a weapon, something to fight back.

But with his hands pinned, the bulk of metal on his legs immobilising him completely, they wouldn’t have made a difference.

“Heh,” the first voice replied. “He’s a heliformer. What do you think?”

Blades wanted to spit something, or cry out in pain as the mech shifted and almost dented one of his rotors, but he only got a warning in his HUD.

His vocaliser was offline. Self-repair was already on it, though whatever they’d done had silenced him.

With a staticky crackle, Blades’ optics widened. They touched him. Touched his interface panel, and it made his energy field flare with panic. Blades wanted out, needed to get away from them, but all he could do was lie there and not make it too easy for them.

Even Blades’ whimper couldn’t be produced, and the distorted sound made the intruders laugh.

The light switched on.

Everything stopped for a moment before it got even worse.

The enraged growl was only the beginning.

“Frag, Blast Off, listen,” the mech on Blades’ legs said. For a short moment, he saw it was a tank, another Combaticon, before the shuttle unleashed the pit on them.

Blast Off reached out for the small grounder next to the sofa. The metal squealed, the arm was dented. With a swift move, Blast Off smashed the mech into the computer console.

The tank didn’t have time to get up.

A large hand enclosed his face, deformed the battle mask and causing the mech to scream. The sound morphed into a gargling whine as Blast Off smashed his head against the wall above the couch. With his legs still partly on Blades, the tank kicked out and hit the heliformer.

Eventually, Blades came to his senses and scrambled away, off the sofa and into the corner.

The tank tried to punch Blast Off, but the shuttle dodged and repeatedly crashed the back of the other’s head against the wall. He then raised his fist, and from the angle Blades was watching, it looked as though he buried it deep within the tank’s abdomen. Energon shimmered on the black hand and heat shield.

“What did I tell you about breaking into my room?” The growl wasn’t loud, but it was so rich of anger, it was almost touchable.

Even crouched in the corner, Blades could sense the furious fluctuating energy field of the shuttle.

“But Vortex-“ the smaller grounder began, and was immediately silenced.

It was brutal, and Blades wanted to be somewhere else.

Finally, after energon had spilled on the floor, and the intruders had stopped moving, Blast Off took them and left.

Blades pulled his legs close, and sobbed. He tried to regain his composure, but the hitching of intakes just didn’t stop. Putting his forehead on his knees, he clutched his head, shaking it minutely.

It didn’t make sense.

Why did they break in? Would they have had continued if Blades had been in a normal brig? Would they’ve come earlier? Why did Blast Off almost kill them? They were his team.

Blades was merely a stranger, prisoner, a nuisance in his room, and Blast Off didn’t want him to be there.

He was the reason they broke in. And he saw him getting off the couch. Blast Off would weld him to the wall. The dented wall, damaged by the force Blast Off had smashed his team mate against it.

Blades shivered, and his rotors twitched.

When the door opened again, it was like reflex that he got back on the sofa.

Blast Off entered. Blades was the first thing he looked at, and the heliformer went stiff.

Their optics met.

It was that instant that Blades dawned that he couldn’t explain himself. His vocaliser produced static.

The shuttle didn’t even huff.

All he did was go to his desk and sit down.

It wasn’t what Blades had expected, but maybe he’d turn on him later. When he was in recharge, like the others had done.

The heliformer sat there. Now and then his intakes still hitched, but Blast Off didn’t look at him.

Not like Blades, who stared at the shuttle, taking in every little movement as he worked on the device on the table. Energon was still in the joints of the hands. It was also still on the floor.

Sometimes Blades’ optics dropped to the large cannons on the shuttle’s feet, expected them to realign and point at him, expected them to start humming and building the bright glow of laser fire.

But Blast Off didn’t activate them. He didn’t talk to Blades, blame him, or acknowledged his presence in any way.

Blades was sick. He tried to suppress trembling as well as he could, but it increased again as he sought the presence of his team within the realm of their gestalt.

He just met a wall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades meets Scavenger, and gets something to fight his boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, twisted fluff  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Scavenger  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blades didn’t recharge.

Blast Off had gone to sleep hours ago, and would probably get up soon, but Blades forced himself to stay awake. He didn’t want to be surprised again.

When the shuttle did get up, he left for a moment, came back, and gave Blades the energon cube like every day. Then he vanished once more.

With Blast Off gone, Blades felt even worse. What if his team mates came back for him? Or other Decepticons thought it would be entertaining to visit the only Autobot on the Nemesis. Blades was not just scared, but also tired. He wouldn’t have the strength to fight back, even less than he had before.

Looking at the door for a moment, Blades decided to do what he’d missed the previous day. He got up quickly, hurried to the desk and grabbed the biggest screwdriver within reach.

He was back on the couch as quickly as he’d stood up, and waited. There was nothing else he could do.

He would recharge when Blast Off was back. During that time hopefully no one would dare enter the shuttle’s quarters.

After his outburst, Blast Off hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t looked at him like he was just waiting for Blades to settle down. He hadn’t looked at Blades at all.

Blades scolded himself for having been so afraid of the shuttle. Blast Off had had enough opportunities to force himself on Blades, and considering the mech’s strength, he definitely didn’t need to wait for Blades to be unconscious.

In fact, Blades realised, he was safer with the shuttle.

With a sigh, he settled back, and turned the tool in his hands. There were several things he could do with it, and his optics shifted to the chain at his ankles.

As before everything he did, once again Blades first looked at the door. After making sure no one would come in, hearing no steps from outside or voices in the hallway, he started working on the mechanism.

It wasn’t like anything he’d seen before, but Blades tried his best. And failed.

The shock travelled not only from his ankle up his leg, but also nearly caused his hands to become numb. At first there was the burning pain, and then, as though the sensor nodes had given in, Blades couldn’t feel his lower arms any more.

At that exact moment, when Blades lost his grip on the tool and it had rolled to the backrest, the door slid open.

He tensed.

The mech that entered was smaller than the shuttle, and the paintjob brighter. Purple and green, and a shovel hung down his back.

He hummed a tune that was familiar, and he had a large box under his arm.

Blades was ready to jump up, and almost did when the mech saw him.

“Oh, hi,” he sounded perplex. The surprise made Blades wary, but his instinct to flee faded a little.

“Right, you’re the Autobot. Wow, I didn’t expect that,” the mech said, and Blades finally identified him as one of the Constructicons, the excavator. “I kinda thought it was a joke, but wow.”

He really did seem surprised, and Blades was confused. He could only stare.

“Uh,” the Constructicon began anew. He followed the chain with his optics to where it vanished beneath the couch. “I didn’t mean you are a joke. But there’s a rumour going around about a Protectobot being held in some room. I didn’t really listen. I hardly ever pay attention to the gossip on the ship so… uh, yeah. Anyway. I’m here for work.” He pointed at the console behind him. “That one needs repairs but I guess you already know that.”

He gave a nod, and turned to the console. Within a few kliks, tools were spread on the floor, and the mech took care of the device, still humming that tune.

It took Blades a while until he recognised it, and when he did, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out.

“It’s MASH, isn’t it?” Blades’ voice was still staticky, his vocaliser not fully repaired, but it caused the mech to look up.

“I, uh,” the Constructicon began, his optics flickered once. “I picked the tune up a while back when I… uh-“

“I like the show.” Blades decided to interrupt the stammering. He couldn’t quite understand why someone would be embarrassed watching human TV, but this was probably a Decepticon thing.

“Oh,” the mech uttered in surprise. “Well, nice. I try to catch up on it whenever I can. Work’s keeping us busy, and now with the Combaticon base being rebuild and all the battles.” The purple visor flickered again. “I… probably shouldn’t talk to you.”

The mech turned back to the console, and continued the repairs.

Desperation boiled inside Blades. He finally had someone to talk to, and it didn’t matter that it was a Decepticon.

“What episode are you on?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “I mean, we can talk about MASH, right? You don’t have to tell me about your work. Just… talking is nice.” The staticky screeches made the nervousness in his voice less detectable, though the Constructicon still picked it up.

“I’m at episode 218.” The Constructicon changed tools, and the sound of a drill was loud in the room. When the noise ebbed, he added. “Blast Off doesn’t talk about things like that, does he?”

Blades shook his head even though the other couldn’t see him.

“I think,” the Constructicon pondered as he worked on the computer, “he doesn’t like talking. At least I can’t remember if I ever talked to him. Actually,” he stopped for the time it took for tools to clatter in his box as he rummaged around, “I think he doesn’t like people.”

Blades vented air. His legs on the couch, and chin on his knees, he hid the screwdriver with his body. “But he’s part of a gestalt, right?” It was just hardly understandable that someone who shared a bond with others could beat them up like that.

“Well, yes, he is, but-” the Constructicon shrugged. The shovel twitched twice. “They’re difficult, to say the least.”

The conversation ebbed.

Blades had no idea what he could answer to that, and so he tried to remember what happened in episode 218 of MASH. That way he might be able to change the topic. It was nice to talk to someone again.

Before Blades found the right memory file, the Constructicon straightened up and gathered his tools.

He turned. The battle mask hid the face, but his voice sounded as though he was smiling when he said, “I can turn a TV channel on if you like? Then it won’t be so boring.”

Blades perked up. “Oh. Oh, yes, please!”

The Decepticon nodded. He typed something into the key board, and went to the door. Stopping once, it appeared as if he’d wanted to say something else, but he kept quiet. Blades watched the mech leave.

\---

Blades knew the channel. It was the one where episodes of MASH aired every weekday. It had to be early afternoon, because right now the human cartoons were shown like every day before the more exciting shows.

The colours and heroic screams and weird flickers made Blades dizzy. He didn’t drift into recharge, but he dimmed his optics and only half listened to what was going on. 

Over the noise of a man riding a tiger, Blades missed the ping sound that always came shortly before the door opened.

When the light from the hallway shone into the room and a shadow grew on the floor, Blades’ intakes hitched. He tensed, optics widened, and he reached next to him for the screwdriver. He held it so tight, the joints on his fingers almost creaked.

The dark figure that stepped in was familiar. And Blades relaxed. Only to freeze again when Blast Off turned to the TV.

The door closed.

Without any comment, the shuttle switched the TV off, and then looked at Blades.

“The repair person turned it on,” Blades explained, not even knowing if Blast Off wanted to hear it. It was the moment he became aware that the purple visor wasn’t fixed on him, but on the screwdriver that Blades still squeezed tight.

The screwdriver that Blades got from the desk when he was walking around, which he wasn’t allowed to do. 

Blades’ rotors quivered, and he shuffled back until his back hit the armrest. He expected an angry growl of that strong shuttle engine, or an annoyed huff. Maybe he’d be punched just like Blast Off had punched his team mates. Maybe the shuttle would weld him to the wall, wordlessly, and enjoying it that he finally had a reason to immobilise Blades.

Blast Off came closer, and the quivering of Blades’ rotors became an anxious twitching.

Blades clung to the tool like to a lifeline.

He needed to explain that it was only for self-defence, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Blast Off held out his hand to Blades, staring at him.

It seemed like a whole joor passed before Blades dared move. He relaxed enough to stretch out his arm but came the other’s hand only slowly closer. Reluctantly, Blades put the screwdriver into the shuttle’s palm.

The tool looked so small in Blast Off’s hand.

Neither of them spoke. Blast Off put the screwdriver back on the desk, and lay down.

Blades kept looking at the mech for a while, sincerely wondering what had just happened.

Huddled in the corner where the back and the armrest met, he eventually fell asleep.

\---

Blades woke up the next morning with a numb arm. He’d laid weirdly on it, and the energon flow had been disrupted. He shook it out as well as he could, then glanced around in the search for Blast Off.

Like the day before the shuttle was gone. The energon cube was on the floor, and next to it... Blades rebooted his optics. Next to the energon, in reach if he leant off the couch, there was the screwdriver.

Blades took it both. Today, he wasn’t scared.

\---

Joors passed in which nothing happened. No one entered the room, and Blades was partly relieved, and partly disappointed.

He became bored.

He’d tried to get rid of the cuffs again, but only got shocked, and so he gave up after a while.

When Blades had to dismiss escaping as an activity, he started to push the screwdriver’s handle on the flat covering of the couch. He counted the astroseconds it took to smooth itself out again, and attempted it with various intensities of pressure.

After that wasn’t entertaining any more, Blades tried to draw patterns or figures on the flat surface, making it a challenge to finish them before the first line had vanished. He didn’t realise how much time he’d spent on this, and only became aware of it when the door opened.

He checked his chronometer.

Blast Off had been away for 9.84 joors.

Blades sat up straight, giving the screwdriver back when Blast Off stood next to him and held out his hand.

“You’re not watching TV,” the shuttle said, sitting down at the desk and put the tool to use on the device on there.

“Uh,” Blades wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. “No? I can’t.”

Blast Off looked up at Blades, and glanced at the computer. “Did Scavenger not give you access to the lower functions of the console?”

Blades shook his head. “He only turned it on.”

With a sigh that Blades wasn’t sure if was annoyed or tired the shuttle got up. His energy field was drawn close as he passed Blades, rounding the berth to the way to the console.

“Ping it. It needs your frequency.”

Blades sat up on his knees, eyeing the shuttle with suspicion. “And then what? What do you need it for?”

Blast Off tipped his head to a side. “If you want to watch TV, ping it. I don’t need it for anything. I don’t care about your frequency. If I needed it, I’d ask Soundwave to extract it.”

That made a lot of creepy sense, and Blades hoped the communications officer wouldn’t poke inside his head. He nodded briefly, and hesitatingly pinged the console.

The screen flickered, and text scrolled down that Blades couldn’t read. Blast Off blocked the console with his massive frame. From this angle, it looked as though the shuttle was typing.

Blades waited, and finally after a moment that took way too long for his tastes, the console pinged back.

“There,” Blast Off said and went back to his desk. “You can change channels now. Just mute it and have the sound sent to you directly. I’m not keen on enduring these primitively annoying programs.”

Blades grinned. “Sure thing.” If he was lucky, he’d catch the rerun of today’s MASH episode. He could indeed change the program, and couldn’t help but be grateful. Finally he’d have something to do, and some noises other than his own and the ship’s systems.

“Thank you,” Blades said honestly.

Blast Off’s visor brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond – maybe in surprise.

“Hm,” he uttered gruffly. “That way you'll hopefully stop staring at me all the time.”

The heliformer resisted snapping a sassy remark, and merely kept grinning. He didn’t let it falter even though he did wonder if he’d really stared at the shuttle that often.

MASH began airing, and Blades shrugged his thoughts off.

Both mechs remained quiet. Blades enjoyed watching TV and the company. It was almost like with his team.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades almost sees his team again, and Blast Off gets two visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, non-graphic smut of the p’n’p kind, comedy, general Blast Off-grumpiness  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Vortex, Octane  
>  **Rating:** PG-13

It had been a while since Blades had lost track of how long he had been on the Nemesis. It had to have been longer than two weeks already before he had been allowed to watch TV.

The human programs helped to pass the time, and it was easier to name the days now. Blades counted them using MASH episodes. Sometimes he watched them twice, just because nothing else aired that was worth spending time on - and maybe also because he wanted Blast Off to look at the TV.

So far, the shuttle hadn’t asked what Blades was watching. He didn’t seem interested at all in the console unless he had to use it.

Blades was a little disappointed.

Although he had entertainment now, and something that made him feel less alone, he’d have liked to talk to the shuttle. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried, but all Blades got in return were one word answers or huffs, followed by the demand to be quiet.

The daily routine had become a sort of ritual. Blast Off would leave after giving Blades the energon and the screwdriver, and when the shuttle had gone, Blades would turn on the TV.

When Blast Off came back, he would wordlessly glance at the console, then at Blades, who gave the tool back voluntarily.

No other mech had entered the room, and Blades had only gotten off the couch once to clean the dried energon from the fight that had been still on the floor. He’d used one of the many cloths on the desk, but when Blast Off had come back, he hadn’t said anything.

Things changed the day when the cartoons Blades still didn’t like to watch were interrupted by a newsfeed. 

The Decepticons had attacked a nuclear power plant, apparently trying to cause a meltdown to use the immense power output to turn into energon.

Blades raised his optical ridges.

This was just stupid. Why did they always try to get energy by destroying power plants? If they stole the energy more subtly for a longer duration of time, they would get far more energon, and it would save them the battle.

Blades shook his head, and watched. It was a long dawned-out fight, and the focus was on where the human reporters were still allowed to be. They showed the evacuation of the nearby human city, and Blades perked up. His team would be somewhere. Maybe First Aid was near the main battle, but Hot Spot could be in the urban area. 

Edging closer to the arm rest, Blades’ optics flicked over the screen, searching for his fellow Protectobots. He reached out through the bond, but he was still isolated. Nothing came through. It hurt.

The realisation how much he missed his team hit hard. The TV had been a distraction, the acceptance of being held prisoner deep down on the ocean had numbed his urge to use the bond, but now it was back.

Blades wanted to sooth First Aid, to show him he did good, and that his work mattered. He wanted to apologise to Hot Spot for disobeying orders, showing his good intent in doing so. He wanted to help Groove helping the civilian humans and show he admired his determination to keep the aliens safe even in the middle of the battle. And he wanted to argue with Streetwise, with them both knowing that they didn’t really mean it, and Blades being sorry, not being obnoxious on purpose when he dismissed the tactician’s ideas.

Blades slumped, his rotors wilted. He missed his team so much, he had to suppress his intakes hitching. 

For hours Blades followed the news of the battle, always looking for one of his team mates on screen.

He didn’t hear the door opening due to the sound in his head. The corridor had to be dark, too, because there was no light coming in this time. There was only Blast Off’s dark figure that blocked the screen as he entered.

Blades sat up straight, trying to cover up the depression that had hit him earlier.

Blast Off’s engine revved to a dangerous growl that was even louder than the TV. Blades muted it completely.

“Turn that off!” the shuttle spat, the visor glowing bright.

They repeated footage of the battlefield.

“But I have it muted, it-“

“ _Turn it off!_ ”

Blades tensed, and sent the command to the console. The screen went dark.

That evening, Blast Off didn’t take the tool from Blades. He just went to the other side of the berth, and poked the wall. Like the first evening, and on a very few other days, Blast Off took out a cube.

The light was dim, but Blades still could see the scorched metal on the shuttle’s side. There was no energon, but a freshly welded line on his upper arm, and some bits of white shimmered through the usually black heat shields on the lower arms.

Till then, it hadn’t really occurred to Blades that Blast Off had probably been there, too.

He didn’t know how to react. Should he say something? Should he give the tool back of his own?

With the mood the shuttle was in now, it was perhaps safer if Blades kept the screwdriver.

He watched the shuttle closely, tried to make out anything new, changes, things that the shuttle hadn’t done before.

There was the faint clicking of ailerons that sometimes happened, Blades guessed when he was annoyed or confused. Like that one time when the device on the table had almost broken apart, or when Blast Of had first seen him with the screwdriver. There was the deep ventilation, and measured movements that indicated he was focused on something, sometimes staying calm. And there was the shifting of the dark panels on his back.

Blades had yet to figure out what that meant.

He watched Blast Off clean and polish his side, doing something to the heat shield on his arms that Blades didn’t understand.

There was not a single word from Blast Off, and Blades didn’t try to converse, either.

Right then, Blades didn’t just miss his team, but also felt unwelcome. Just like in the first few days.

Blades waited for Blast Off to settle first.

It was still hard to go to recharge.

\---

Blades wasn’t sure what woke him up. It was either the static in the air that tingled on his rotor blades, or the muffled sliding of metal and whispering from the other side of the room.

It took him a few moments to reboot properly, but he was still dizzy as he turned his head enough to look over his shoulder. He shuffled a rotor down, and frowned.

It wasn’t Blast Off on the berth.

At least not alone.

A few more astroseconds ticked by before Blades’ optical sensors adjusted enough to make out what was happening.

He froze for the slightest of moments, and then hastily turned again, staring at the backrest of the sofa.

But the image had burned itself into his processor.

The image of Blast Off leaning over Vortex, pinning the heliformer’s hands above his head. Vortex arching up, rotors visibly shuddering and energy fields creating that blue glow when they’d mingled and were charged during interface.

Blades heard the scraping of metal against metal, the buzz of fields and cables and the faint, suppressed moans of two mechs.

“Oh frag,” Vortex gasped, louder than before, and the charge pooled in the room.

It smelled of heated metal, warm oil and energon. A mix that prickled in Blades’ olfactory sensors, a mix that added to the tingle behind Blades’ interface cover.

“Be quiet,” Blast Off growled, metal squealed and the strong engine revved.

Two vocalisers uttered whispers under static.

Blades was glad that he lay on his interface panel. At least it wasn’t exposed directly to the charged air. It was maddening enough with his rotors twitching, taking in the heat and sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong places. 

Even without seeing them, his imagination caught up on Blades when metal created scraping sounds, sliding noises, and Vortex’ scream was stifled. Maybe by Blast Off’s lips, or one of the large hands covering the mouth. 

Blast Off’s engine rumbled again, mingled with the growl of a charged vocaliser that was all but possessive. 

Blades knew he should deactivate his audial sensors. He was awkward, and his frame heated under the impact of the atmosphere around him. It was like having his gestalt bond wide open when two of his team interfaced – only the heat came from the outside, and there was no way of shutting it down.

And even though Blast Off repeatedly tried to stop them, Vortex’ noises became louder, more desperate as he neared overload. It was then that Blades turned his audials off.

The static in the air was still intense, and suddenly peaked. It was unbearable for that moment, and Blades was close to reaching for his rotors, giving them some friction and relief.

He forced himself to be still, lying motionless and riding out the charge around and inside him. It’d take joors, he knew, but there was no way he’d give in to that urge.

His rotor blades kept twitching in arousal even after he went back to recharge.

\---

Blades woke up late and exhausted. He felt like he could go back to recharge again the instant he onlined his optics. His lines were sore from charge that hadn’t been released, and his rotors still tingled with an underlying ache.

With a groan, he heaved himself up, and sat up straight.

“You still have my screwdriver. I need it,” was Blast Off’s greeting.

“Yeah, good morning to you, too.” Blades wasn’t in the mood to hold back. He knew he should keep quiet, but today he didn’t feel like being the nice quiet prisoner.

“It’s afternoon already.”

“Huh?” Blades frowned. Shocked, confused, and annoyed at Blast Off’s questionable ability to throw him off like that, he covered his expression by rubbing a hand over his face.

“The screwdriver,” Blast Off repeated, and got up.

Blades ignored the energon cube on the floor for now. “What? Is that some kind of hidden threat because I haven’t given it back to you yet?”

The shuttle stood in front of him, casting a shadow over Blades as he blocked the ceiling light. Blades did his best not to raise his head. He didn’t want to look the other in the optics, the memory from the previous night still too present.

“No,” Blast Off said flatly. “I need this screwdriver for the repairs, and I'd prefer not to look for it on you by myself.”

Blades preferred that, too. He didn’t want Blast Off to touch him, not with those hands that had touched Vortex like that. He shook his rotors out and reached behind him. He handed it over with a huff.

Blast Off nodded, and went back to the desk.

“What’s that anyway? That thing there?” Blades asked as he reached down and got his ration. It was more than the last few days. It looked like the Decepticons had stolen some energy despite being unable to blow up the power plant.

“It’s a 3D-projector.”

“And it does what?” Blades sipped, leaning back and looking at the shuttle.

Blast Off exhaled air loudly, probably on purpose. “It projects in 3D, as in holograms.”

“Oh, okay.” It wasn’t that Blades couldn’t understand what it was for, he just wasn’t sure what needed to be projected as a 3D hologram. “Why is it broken?”

“Because it was dormant for over 50 thousand vorns.”

Blades wasn’t used to Cybertronian units of time even if he knew them. It was just that he lived on Earth, was built here, and never needed them. He did the maths. His optics widened.

“Wow, that’s a long time.”

Blast Of shrugged. “It is.”

The silence that fell over them was calm, but Blades didn’t like it. He couldn’t remember when Blast Off had ever said that much to him before, and maybe he could keep the conversation going.

“What do you need it for?” he tried.

“Why do you care?” Blast Off put his tool down, and looked up. “Don’t you have any human shows to watch. I want to work here.”

“It’s Saturday afternoon, there’s only bullshit on. So, what do you need it for?” 

Blast Off’s ailerons clicked. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, and every answer he could have given was interrupted by the door lock pinging.

Blades and Blast Off looked at it simultaneously.

It rang a second time, and with a growl, Blast Off stood up once more.

When the door slid aside, Blades couldn’t see who it was, but he heard the other mech’s voice.

“Hey, Blast Off. How’re things going, old buddy.”

“I’m not your _buddy_. What do you want, Octane?”

Blades was kinda amazed and relieved that Blast Off apparently spoke to his fellow Decepticons like he spoke to Blades.

“Heh, whatever you say, Blast Off. I was just wondering if you could lend me some creds. You know, me and Swindle have this deal with these humans-“

“No.”

“Wow, dude, let me finish, okay?” Octane said in defence.

“Not okay,” Blast Off replied, voice losing the flat edge as a stern undertone entered. “I doubt that Swindle would agree to you asking me for credits.”

“Why not?”

“Because I beat him into medbay not that long ago. I highly doubt he’d dare aggravate me that shortly after.” 

Blades tensed at the memory of that incident, and drew his legs close.

“Well, okay, okay. It’s not for Swindle and me. It’s just for me. But you’re an alpha, I bet you still have lots of creds somewhere. And not to mention the interest you’ve accrued while being in the box-“

“Enough,” Blast Off interrupted the mech a second time.

“Okay, got it. No money from you,” the shadow from the mech that cast into the room moved. “But I heard you have that Autobot there. Can I see him?”

Before Blast Off could answer, a head appeared in the door. “Hey there.”

Blast Off blocked the way so that the mech couldn’t get in further. “Leave.”

“But he’s a cutie, isn’t he? You okay if I borrow him for a while? I mean if you get sick of him or Vortex gets all fragged of with you having another-”

“I said _leave_.” Blast Off’s cannons realigned and started humming. It was the first time Blades had heard the sound.

Blast Off pushed the button on the control panel, and the door slid shut.

“Aren’t you cranky toda- Hey!” Just in time Octane was able to pull his head out. From outside, the muffled voice said something, but Blades couldn’t understand it.

Blast Off typed on the control panel near the mechanism, and the light turned red again. He grumbled a curse, and sat down.

Almost two kliks passed before Blades’ curiosity got the better of him. “What’s an alpha?”

“I am not certain if you mean to annoy me or are serious with that question,” the shuttle replied with a huff. 

“I’m serious. They call Mirage an alpha sometimes, but I don’t really get what that means. It has something to do with towers, doesn’t it?”

Blast Off looked at him as though he measured if Blades was making fun of him.

“I was built on Earth,” Blades tried to clarify.

Blast Off nodded the tiniest nod. “I see,” he turned to his device again. “When your Autobot friends fail to educate their new builds well, it seems they have to get the knowledge from the enemy.”

Hearing the condescending tone, Blades was close to spitting something very vulgar, but he resisted.

“Back on Cybertron, in the Golden Age, we had the caste system. Alpha is just a very bad human translation of-“ Blast Off said a word in Cybertronian that Blades had never heard before. The language was unfamiliar in his audials, even though it was the language of his race. Blast Off continued while applying the tools to the 3D-projector. “It just described the highest caste, which was divided into several others. A Towermech is from Iacon, called that because they lived in the luxury towers near the political centre. I’m a shuttle,” he shrugged. “Shuttleformers were always alpha from the day they were built. Even the shuttle working in the lowest departments was considered worth more than any of a lower caste.”

“So Skyfire is an alpha, too?” Blades asked, and wondered. No one had ever had called the Autobot shuttle that, or had treated him different. Not how they sometimes did with Mirage.

“If he’s a shuttle, he is alpha. Do I need to repeat my explanation?”

Wow, Blades thought, the shuttle really was grumpy. But he was also more talkative than he had been. The heliformer shifted a little on the berth, shuffling his rotors down.

“No, I’m good. So, you had like servants and stuff all the time?”

Blast Off vented air deeply. “No. I worked in science, and was glad when I could leave the planet and didn’t have to deal with people. Is that everything?”

Blades tipped his head to a side. “What’s ‘the box’?”

Blast Off froze.

Blades hadn’t expected that reaction, and he'd never seen Blast Off like that. It looked as though every joint, every wire was stiff. He’d stopped mid movement, the tool not touching the projector, it hung in the air.

When he started moving again, it seemed different, but Blades couldn’t make out what had changed. He waited, but there was never an answer.

They were quiet for the rest of the day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades has to spend more time with Vortex, and as result he starts to doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, interrogation theme, manipulation  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Vortex  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG-13

Blades was watching TV the next day when the door pinged.

Blast Off didn’t seem surprised, and he opened it without huffing or growling. Blades tried to ignore that unusual behaviour, and stared at the screen. He had to lean a bit off the couch when Blast Off blocked the TV as he opened the door.

He didn’t pay much attention to who was there this time, and frowned at the human on TV cutting another organic in half to prepare it for lunch.

Humans were so weird.

Blades had come to terms that organics ate each other, but no other organic celebrated it like humans did. He found it a little disturbing; he wondered why Blast Off hadn’t commented on his choice of show yet.

The shuttle sometimes did.

“Turn the TV off.”

Blades looked up at the shuttle. “Huh?” He didn’t have the chance to switch the screen off, because the shuttle did so first.

“Hey, what are you-” Blades stopped mid-sentence as he saw Vortex walking in.

The other heliformer’s mask and visor hid the face, only the rotor blades quivered, but Blades didn’t know what it meant. Nothing good, he was sure. Hopefully they wouldn’t frag again in front of him.

“Get up, we’re gonna go and have a little chat.” Vortex' tone was far too amused.

Blades shot Blast Off a questioning look, but there was neither an explanation nor back-up. He didn’t want to go with Vortex.

But the other heliformers was already at his ankle and took off the chain that bound Blades to the wall. He didn’t like being touched by Vortex.

The chain was soon gone, and Vortex stared down at him when he didn’t move. Blades looked at Blast Off again, and the shuttle shrugged.

“Get up. It’s easier to just go along,” he said flatly.

That wasn’t very helpful. Blades was confused at himself for feeling betrayed by Blast Off.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” Vortex pointed out, but the audible grin and just the mech being _Vortex_ made this statement sound like a bad joke.

“Right, as if.” Blades spat, and pressed himself harder against the backrest.

“Okay, if you don’t want to, I can get Brawl to bring you to the interrogation room.” The ‘copter shrugged, his rotor blades twitching.

Blades tensed.

Brawl – the tank that had attacked him before. He knew it was a threat to make him move, but Blades didn’t doubt Vortex was beneath calling his team mate if he didn’t get up.

Not giving in instantly, Blades waited a few more astroseconds, then reluctantly got to his feet.

“Good Autobot.”

Vortex’ voice already grated on Blades. “Frag you.”

The other heliformer chuckled. Blast Off huffed. “Just get out, I have work to do.”

\---

It was like the very first day on the Nemesis when Blades had walked in front of Onslaught to an unknown destination. Like that day, Blades was defiant, angry and tired, and also scared. He could actually try to escape now, because Vortex wasn’t as strong as Onslaught. But his hands were still in cuffs.

Blades looked over his shoulder.

Behind him to the side was Vortex, seemingly careless, though Blades didn’t trust him. He was probably just waiting for Blades to act up so that he had a legitimate reason to do whatever his sick mind wanted to do.

“We’re there,” Vortex said, touching Blades' shoulder to make him stop.

It was hard not to wince.

The door opened. It was a manual one; one that had to be pushed open by a handle and didn’t slide into the wall.

Blades had the feeling this wasn’t a good sign.

Vortex grabbed him by the lower arm, and urged him into the dark room. When the light flickered on, it revealed bleak walls in a light grey, not purple like the rest of the ship seemed to be. In the middle were a small table and two chairs opposite each other.

“Take a seat,” Vortex offered cheerfully. It caused a chill down Blades’ backstruts, but at least Vortex had let go of his arm.

Slowly, Blades went to the table. There was a work bench at the other end of the wall. Tools were on it, and dried pink liquid that was most certainly energon.

Blades’ rotors twitched. He sat down on the chair that faced the door so that he didn’t have to see the bench. Sitting there he saw Vortex locking the door with three thick bolts and an electronic mechanism that showed a red light.

Blades’ rotors became rigid and his joints tense. 

Leisurely, Vortex turned the second chair, and sat down as well. His arms crossed over the back rest, his visor fixed on Blades. He didn’t say anything.

One klik passed. Blades started to get nervous. He resisted shifting on his chair, but couldn’t stop his rotor blades from twitching.

After the second klik in which Vortex merely sat there, Blades’ optics flicked to the door then back at the heliformer. The sound of the Nemesis’ systems was the most prominent in the room, it mingled with Vortex' slow ventilation and a clicking noise Blades couldn’t identify.

When the first breem had ticked by, Blades couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting any more. 

Why didn’t Vortex do anything? Wasn’t he supposed to ask questions and be scary? To threaten him with all the horrible things Blades could imagine and even worse. Wasn’t he-

Vortex jumped up and loudly clashed his hands down on the table.

Blades almost jumped out of his chair, flailing his arm so as not to fall. His intakes hitched.

Vortex leant over the chair and table, the visor close to Blades’ face. His engine revved in a threat, and his voice lacked any former cheerfulness or amusement. “What do you know?!”

Confusion added to Blades’ mental state, his optics widened. “About what?” 

“Don’t pretend you’re clueless. What do you know?” Vortex demanded, visor brightening in what could be anger.

Blades leant back as much as he could. Was he supposed to know what the other meant? Maybe something had happened during the last battle. Did his team do anything to the Combaticons? His optics flicked to various spots in the room while trying to figure out what to say. Maybe he needed to make up something, but-

Vortex started giggling. “Oh frag, you should see your face.” He dropped back down onto his chair, his rotors quivering visibly. “That’s too precious.” He rested his chin on his hand. 

Blades rebooted his optics. What the pit was going on?

“Slag,” Vortex continued, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I… what? I’m not looking at you like- I mean, what the frag do you mean?” Blades found some of his defiance again.

“Like you're doing right now.” Vortex took out an energon cube, and withdrew his battle mask. He was smirking as he sipped. “It makes me want to do all the naughty things to you.”

Blades’ face contorted into a grimace of disgust.

Vortex laughed. “Don’t worry. Blast Off would rip my arms off if I bring you back leaking. But on second thoughts…”

Blades measured the distance to the door and how long it’d take to open it.

Vortex drank more from his cube, and then added. “Don’t worry too much. I’m just making fun.”

“How reassuring. I’ve seen on the battlefield what your meaning of fun looks like,” Blades muttered under a growl. He wanted to be anywhere else but there, preferably back in Blast Off’s room.

Air puffed from Vortex’ vents, and his expression morphed. The smirk was still there, but Blades couldn’t detect what the difference was. He wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. Something witty and antagonising, though all Blades could come up with would frag the other off, or maybe make him laugh about Blades.

Vortex had gone back to just looking at him, and now with the revealed face, it was even more disconcerting. Blades wondered if Jazz had been trained to ignore things like this if he was captured, and if there were coping mechanisms Blades could put to some use right now. If he ever would get back home, Blades would ask him about that.

Vortex’ rotors twitching caught Blades’ attention.

“You were awake.”

That took Blades off-guard. “What?”

Vortex spoke in a neutral tone. “Two nights ago, you were awake.”

He meant the night Blades had been woken up by _them_. It was difficult to stop himself from widening his optics, but Blades was able to keep a mostly blank expression.

“I’m not sure I follow you?” Blades was bad at pretending, and he hoped his reaction could be interpreted just as surprised wariness.

“You know what I mean. We woke you up.” Vortex sipped, his visor was bright, and it was as though he knew exactly what Blades was trying to do. “We sensed you flaring your field at the charge.”

“What the-“ Blades tensed, recapitulating the events, and glared. “I fraggin’ di-” he stopped mid-word as he realised he’d fallen for the trap. “I hate you!”

“Hehehe, you’re welcome.” The other’s smirk grew broader. “It turned you on, didn’t it? Me and Blast Off on the berth, the electrified air, his growling and moans and strong engine revving?”

Blades’ jaw clenched.

Vortex sighed. “I had to convince him, you know. He didn’t want to at first with you in the room, but I think in the end he didn’t really care. After that battle, we needed an outlet.”

Blades bit his glossa. He wouldn’t ask about the battle or if his team had been there. He didn’t allow himself to be curious why Blast Off had needed an outlet, or why he’d been so angry at the news on TV that day. Blades remained silent.

“Did you notice that the daily rations are more than they were before the battle? Did you ask yourself why? If the raid was successful? Maybe we met the other Protectobots on the field, who knows.” Vortex shrugged. “Aren’t you tempted to ask me any of that?”

It was scary how well Vortex could guess. Or maybe he knew, because he was an interrogator and had been for millions of years. Manipulating and reading people was his job, but Blades was determined not to let Vortex get to him.

Said ‘copter stood up, and leant near Blades against the table.

“If you don’t talk to me and keep me busy, I get distracted,” Vortex said, with an edge in the voice that caused a cold shudder on Blades’ rotors. “Then I get entertaining ideas, well, entertaining for me.” He leant down, and Blades couldn’t shuffle back enough to hinder Vortex from touching his rotor blade. It went stiff under the touch, and then twitched as Vortex stroked down its edge.

Blades tensed, and the cold shudder morphed into something even more frightening. He stopped his field from extending.

Vortex kneaded the thin metal between his fingers. “Do you want me to take care of your charge? How long has it been since someone touched you like that?”

Blades didn’t even want to think of that. He revved his engine to a growl, and shuffled his blade down. “You’re sick,” he spat, glaring. “What the frag is this? Aren’t you supposed to ask me things about the Autobots? That’s not how an interrogation works.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Vortex chuckled. “You seem to want me to ask questions rather than me continuing anything else I’m doing.”

Blades refused to answer to that, or even worse agree with Vortex.

“But to be honest,” the other sat down again, and heaved air loudly, “you’re right. This isn’t a real interrogation. This is just wasting time.”

Blades’ optics flickered. “What?”

“Seriously, if you consider your role within the Autobot ranks, what could you know what we don’t? What have you possibly to offer?”

“Is that some trick to make me talk? Because if so, it’s not working.”

“Heh.” Vortex shook out his rotors. “For once, it’s not. This whole setup here is really just for wasting time, and for making Megatron think we’re actually trying to get some information.”

Blades opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything.

“But I thought if I have to do that,” Vortex continued, “I can also have some fun in the meantime.”

That was just bizarre. “Why would you want Megatron to think you interrogated me without really doing so?”

“Dunno,” Vortex muttered against the rim of his energon cube, and shrugged. He drank most of it, and vented air before he added. “Onslaught’s planning something. Frag knows what. It’s probably safer for the rest of the team if we don’t know it yet.”

“The team? As in gestalt?” Blades’ thoughts ran in a cycle. “What could he plan that endangers you? I mean aside from wanting to kill Megatron and taking over the Decepticons.” He had to think of Starscream, and the things Skyfire had told them, or that the Autobots knew due to Jazz’ and Mirage’s work.

A vicious streak entered Vortex’ grin. “It’s not so much about the latter, but I can very well guess Ons plans the former.”

That wasn’t what Blades had expected. “Why- ,” he began and stopped. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but after a pause, he asked anyway. “Why would you want to kill Megatron?”

He remembered the incident where the Decepticons and Autobots had to work together to stop the Combaticons. But that time they had changed the orbit of the Earth to get rid of the Autobots, hadn’t they? Blades hadn’t really paid attention. He’d been busy. The Protectobots hadn’t recharged for days even after the planet was back in its orbit. There’d just been still so much to do. When they’d finally been able to settle and get some rest, Blades had just been glad everyone was safe.

Maybe that attack hadn’t meant to be against the Autobots?

Vortex’ visor gleamed, and Blades saw his rotors had stopped quivering.

“We have our reasons,” was all he said.

“But why do you fight for him when you want to kill him?”

“Enough time wasted.” Vortex stood up.

Blades stayed seated. “What? Now that I started asking questions, you don’t want to answer them any more? You wanted me to ask you things, or am I asking the wrong stuff? What-“

Vortex moved swiftly, his face was only inches away from Blades’. Their energy fields rasped against each other, creating an unpleasant sting on Blades’ plating. “Not the wrong questions for me,” Vortex whispered. Blades could see the red optics behind the visor staring into his. “But if I answer, I might destroy your simple, sweet worldview, and reveal things about your Autobot friends you can’t cope with. We don’t want that, do we?”

Blades’ ventilation had stopped without him noticing. He only realised when he sucked in air sharply the moment Vortex grabbed around his upper arm, squeezing his landing skids painfully. The other forced him to stand, and tugged him to the door.

Blades’ thoughts spun. What the pit had just happened?

Vortex dragged him back to Blast Off’s quarters, being all gloomy and silent while Blades thought of the very mechs that had built him. If they’d been honest with him. Or it was all some big plot to confuse him.

What did Vortex mean with Blades having a simple, sweet worldview?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades makes Blast Off talk and answer some questions, but he isn’t sure if he likes the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
> _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, comedy  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, an insentient drone  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blades watched the repair drone where it clung to the ceiling. It was a tiny robot with four legs and a huge yellow optic. It sealed a seam between plates where wires had stuck out.

It was a nice distraction from all the unwelcome thoughts, and Blades forced himself to put a stop to the doubts.

He hadn’t talked to Blast Off after the latter had come back, and he hadn’t watched TV. He didn’t feel like being entertained.

Blast Off had looked at the offline screen once, but then shrugged and hadn’t commented.

Recharge had been weird, but at least during that time Blades hadn’t had thoughts and had only experienced sensor echoes from his team and other things he couldn’t really remember.

Right now the weird feeling still lingered, prodding him as he tried not to figure out why he had sensor echoes in the first place.

Sensor echoes hardly happened to him.

The repair drone welded the seam, and Blast Off was sitting at his desk again, doing something to his arm shields.

Blades vented air loudly.

Soon the drone would be gone, and he'd be left alone with the unresponsive shuttle. Resting his chin on his knees, he zoomed in and out on the small spider-bot. Blades had decided to call it that, and he wondered if it beeped when it was done or needed to recharge its batteries or get new tools. The two drones that First Aid had built when the Protectobots were really young beeped like that. Sometimes they even seemed like they were panicking, it was adorable, but Blades would never admit that. He guessed First Aid knew anyway.

The drone was almost done. It turned on the ceiling to close the other half of the open seam, and huddled down. Then it frizzled, crawling with blue static.

A mechanical squeal was uttered, followed by the clang of the spider-bot hitting the ground.

Blades stared. He glanced up at Blast Off, who looked at the drone as well, and then raised his head.

Their optics met.

“Hey,” Blades sat up, and showed his hands in defence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I never said you did,” Blast Off replied. They looked at the twitching drone another few astroseconds.

With a “hrm”, Blast Off stood up, and huffed when he lifted the spider-bot by one leg.

“What are you gonna do?” Blades wanted to know.

“Dispose of it.”

“But you could repair it?”

Blast Off shrugged. “There are countless more of them on this ship. If one is put out of order, we’ll hardly know. The Constructicons will take care of it.”

“But,” Blades began and put his feet down, though didn’t get up. “I could repair it?”

“Why would you want to waste time on something like this?”

Blades’ shoulders twitched in a minute shrug. “I’d have something to do other than watching TV and waiting for _anything_ to happen.”

“It got electrocuted. I don’t think you can repair it without spare parts.” Blast Off looked as though he was about to turn away.

“Is that a dare?” 

Blast Off didn’t answer at first, but he also didn’t move. Eventually, he shook his head. “Why would I dare you on something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Blades felt more confident as he got an idea. “But it could be fun? A change for once? If I can repair it by the end of the day, you have to answer a question, and, uh…”

“What would I get if you didn’t? You don’t have anything to offer.”

Blades tensed and resisted growling. It was the second time within a day he'd been told that. “If I can’t finish it, I can give you a back rub?” he offered, not sure how he got the idea. If Blast Off agreed to that, he really needed to put all his effort into repairing the drone.

“No. No back rubs,” Blast Off said with an underlying growl, shoulders shifting back, his hand tensed. “I don’t like to be touched.”

Blades hesitated. Well, he could be relieved about that, couldn’t he? “Okay, then if I can’t repair it, I won’t give you a back massage.”

“What are you even-“ Blast Off stopped mid-sentence, and vented deeply. “Whatever.” He crossed the short distance to the couch, and let the drone drop into Blades’ lap. “Do what you want, and no touching whether you repair it or not.”

Blades triumphantly grinned. “But you’ll answer my question if I do?”

Blast Off waved a hand dismissively, and went back to his desk. “If you shut up now, I do. Just be quiet.”

“Cool,” Blades beamed, and looked at the spider-bot. It smelled scorched. “Uh, can I get your tools?”

“Vector Sigma.”

\---

Blades stared at the insides of opened drone, and sighed. Blast Off might have been right, it might not be repairable without spare parts.

He still wanted to try. He wanted to prove something, and it was nice to focus on something new.

Trying to remember what First Aid had taught him, and what he’d learned from maintaining one of First Aid’s drones for a while, he tapped the handle of the tool against his lips.

Blades needed to sort the cables first, and see if they were still all right. Then he’d look at the circuits that had to be somewhere under the mess of melted rubber.

Huddled over the spider-bot, Blades started arrange the lines. He made out where the tiny fuel pump was, and could organise the insides enough to see where which wire was going. Sometimes he cursed, or huffed, annoyed, when something didn’t work as he wanted it to. 

After a while he could begin to take care of the circuits, but Blades wasn’t an expert on repairs. He had no idea if they were fried or not. They looked okay to him and the seemed fine, though that didn’t necessarily mean much.

Blades poked and prodded, and had no idea what he was doing. He poked part of a circuit board, and the spider-bot’s leg twitched.

“Oh,” he uttered softly in surprise, and touched the spot once more with the screwdriver. The leg twitched again.

Blades couldn’t suppress the grin that built on his face.

Focusing on the repairs now that he got a visible result of his actions, he lost his sense of time. Sometimes he managed to make a leg move, sometimes two or three. Once the yellow optic onlined, but flickered off again, but Blades just tried something else.

Eventually, three of the legs were twitching, and the optic glowed dimly.

Blades tinkered a bit more with the circuit boards when suddenly the movements of the drone increased. He was just able to close the hatch of the torso before the spider-bot’s leg morphed into a welder and scorched his finger.

“Ouch,” Blades flailed his hand, accidentally pushing the spider-bot to the ground.

The drone beeped. It got to its spiky feet, and turned around itself a few times.

Blades watched with wide optics, then winced when the drone started running.

It crawled quickly over the ground towards the wall - and hit it with a loud clank. It spun on a leg, turned, and again ran against the same spot.

“Uh…” Blades mumbled, about to get up until he remembered the drone was out of his radius of movement. The low energy around the chain hummed, and its links rattled. He clenched his hands to fists. After the distraction of repairing and focusing on something else entirely, it was an unwelcome reminder of Blades’ situation. Where and who he was within this room. He forced his hands to relax again.

Glancing up at Blast Off, he saw the shuttle observing the spider-bot. Blades vented air deeply, and continued to do the same.

The drone hit the wall three more times. When it stopped, it groped around with its front legs a little, and finally went up vertically towards an air shaft. It beeped once more before it vanished.

“Well,” Blast Off said, and Blades looked back at him.

“Heh,” Blades said, hopefully more confident than he felt. “But I repaired it. Now you have to answer my question.”

Blast Off still looked at the air shaft the drone had vanished in; shuttle vents vented air deeply. “Let’s hope it goes somewhere far away, just in case it makes something explode. Preferably near Skywarp.”

“Oh, I know that name.” Blades perked up. Blast Off turned to him. “It’s the seeker guy, right? Why do you want him to explode?”

“Is that your question you want me to answer?” the shuttle huffed.

“Eh, no. I’m just nosy.” Blades shuffled back on the couch, and crossed his legs. His rotors twitched once. “I, uh… you’re really gonna answer whatever I ask?”

Blast Off got back to do whatever he’d done on his desk. He shrugged. “Seeing as you’re going to annoy me until I do, I hope I can respond to your question so that you’ll be quiet for the rest of the day.”

“Heh,” Blades grinned. “You’re a cranky mech, you know that?”

“As much as I would like this to be your query, I can guess it’s not. Just hurry up and get it over with.”

At that, Blades had to suppress a snicker. As weird as it was, Blades didn’t mind Blast Off being deadpan and speaking drily. He still grinned when he thought about what to ask. There were quite a few things Blades wanted to know, but he tried to find a way to articulate them without ruin the mood.

In the end, his nosiness got the better of him, and he asked. “Why do you fight for Megatron when you actually want to kill him?”

Blades didn’t know what to expect. Maybe the tension that Blast Off had when he’d asked about the Box, or maybe the same anger that Vortex had shown. He hoped this wouldn’t have any consequences for him like Blast Off not bringing him energon any more.

Blast Off didn’t look up, but he wasn’t tense even though he took his time before he answered.

Eventually he huffed once more. “Because we have to.”

Blades’ optics flickered. “And why?”

The shuttle engine revved to a growl. “You had one question, and I answered it.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s not an answer. It’s like saying to a blind person ‘The sky is blue’. I have no idea what’s that supposed to mean. You have to because _what_? What happens if you refuse? If you want to kill Megatron, then why don’t you team up with the Autob-“

“Be quiet!” Blast Off’s ailerons clicked, and Blades wondered why. “Don’t ever suggest us working for the Autobots again. Don’t you-“

“What do you mean _again_ ,” Blades interrupted. “How am I supposed to know what your history with the Autobots is, and why you get all fragged off if I so much as mention them?” He sat up straight and put his feet on the floor. He wasn’t about to stand up, but he let it look like it. “Your attitude sucks. I told you I’m built on Earth. Do you know what I know about this stupid war? That the Decepticons are monsters. That they’re a threat to every living being on this planet. That’s what they hardwired into me. That’s the reason I exist. To protect the life on Earth and fight you.” Blades’ ventilation picked up, and all the thoughts that had bothered him for a while now assumed shape in his rant. “I know frag all about the past. Least of all _your_ past and history with the Autobots. And then your creepy gestalt mate comes and interrogates me and drops stupid hints that make me doubt. But I think this is all some stupid plot to confuse me or something, because what else could it be if you don’t want to tell me. Maybe you need to make something up first? I think you all _are_ some sort of monsters.”

Blades glared at Blast Off who seemed taken aback by his outburst. It was hard to believe his own words when the shuttle didn’t look and act like the brainless vicious lunatic that Blades had always believed Decepticons were. Well, Blast Off didn’t most of the time. He remembered the incident with the shuttle’s team mates, and his rotors shuddered.

Blast Off chose that moment to stand up. Blades froze as he came closer, but put on his defiant expression.

“What now? You’re going to beat me like you did with your gestalt mates?” Blades tilted his head back to look up at the other.

“No,” Blast Off said with a flat voice. “I just want my tools.”

It took Blades by surprise, but he tried not to let it show. His rotors gave another twitch as he handed over the few things he’d needed to repair the drone.

The shuttle’s calm indifference took the wind out of Blades’ sails and left a restless dissatisfaction when Blast Off went back to his desk.

“So,” Blades began anew, less loud or aggravated than before. He drew his legs close, and crossed his arms over his knees. “Why did you beat your team mates like that anyway? I mean, you’re gestalt…” It was something that hadn’t made sense to Blades the whole time.

“They broke into my room. They know what they have to expect if they do that.” Blast Off shrugged and looked at Blades. “And would you rather I let them continue?”

“I, uh, no. But,” Blades didn’t really know how to explain what he meant. Of course he was glad Blast Off had stopped them, but, “They’re your team, like, a part of you.” Maybe it was different with Decepticon gestalts and they didn’t have a bond or permanent connection?

“We weren’t always.”

That threw Blades off. His optics rebooted. “What do you mean?”

“Hmpf.” Blast Off’s huff was all but condescending. “Before we were released, we weren’t a _gestalt_.” He said the last word with such disgust, it made Blades uneasy. It was as though the concept of being a combiner was the most repulsive thing in existence.

“Like, you were individuals?”

“Yes.”

Blades stared at the floor while processing this knowledge. He hadn’t known this was even possible, and he tried to relate. But he was built as a part of a bigger whole, it was natural to him. Imagining it in reverse, how it’d be for him if his team was suddenly gone, his rotors wilted. It was just like now. Their bond was cut off, but at least he still felt them enough to know they were alive and well. He just couldn’t communicate with them. But if that last connection to them was destroyed, Blades thought he’d go insane.

His optics flicked back to Blast Off leaning over his desk and doing something Blades couldn't make out. “That must have been very hard…” he muttered more to himself than to Blast Off, but the shuttle responded.

He exhaled air in a bitter laugh. “It took some time to get used to, yes.”

Blades winced. Knowing this changed everything. It now made sense, but it also created new questions that Blades wanted an answer for. Why had they been rebuilt as a gestalt? Why had they been rebuilt in the first place? Released from what?

“And,” Blades hesitated. “What do you mean by being released?”

Blast Off put his datapad down. “May I remind you that I already answered the one question you were allowed to ask.”

“But you haven’t answered really. It all doesn’t make sense,” Blades countered. “Did the Autobots lock you and your team away? Is that why you hate them?” It was all a huge mess in Blades' head, and he wanted to solve it. He wanted to stop making assumptions and stop doubting his purpose and friends and the people who built him.

“No,” Blast Off’s answer didn’t help to clear up the chaos. “I hate no one, but I despise the Autobots' hypocrisy.”

“And what does _that_ mean?” Blades was becoming frustrated by all this, and he already regretted starting this conversation in the first place. There was no turning back now, however. He wanted to know everything, or at least whatever the shuttle was ready to tell him if he was annoying him enough.

“Vector Sigma,” Blast Off mumbled, and rubbed his face, seemingly equally frustrated.

“How did the Autobots capture you? And how did they lock you up that long? What-“

“It wasn’t the Autobots.” Blast Off interrupted, glaring at Blades. “It was Megatron.”

Blades opened his mouth, then closed it again. He noticed a shift in Blast Off’s posture, and it seemed he was staring right through Blades for a moment. Then he shook his head, and Blades dared speak.

“And that’s the reason you want to kill him…” It made sense.

Only it didn’t, because Blast Off added, “No. We did so before we were locked up. He did lock us up because we wanted to kill him.”

“That means,” Blades paused. “You were Autobots.”

“Vector Sigma, no.” Blast Off vented air deeply, and his frustration morphed into something that appeared like anger. “For frag’s sake. Did your Autobot friends really teach you nothing about the origins of this war? This is ridiculous.” He turned back to his work, only to look up and glare with a glowing visor. “It seriously is ridiculous. I would give you a file to read from the archives, but unfortunately, they were all destroyed.”

Blades would have laughed at that reaction if he had known what this all was about.

“You can teach me?” He tried to get the shuttle to talk once more. It was like Blast Off couldn’t stand his lack of knowledge, and maybe he’d feel the need to educate Blades. “I’m gonna continue to ask questions like that if you don’t.”

It was quiet for two kliks, and Blades was just about to ask again when Blast Off raised his hand, pointing at Blades without looking at him. “Don’t. Be quiet.”

Blades pondered on pushing the issue again, but he didn’t need to as Blast Off sat up straight, and heaved air.

“After what I say, you will be quiet for the rest of the day. No more questions, no matter what. Do you understand?”

It sounded stern, like an order, and Blades only dared nod.

“Fine.” Blast Off spoke strictly, the tone cold unlike his usual blankness. “In the early days of the war, there were three factions. Two originated in Kaon, but unlike Megatron’s faction, we weren’t interested in a rebellion. We weren’t interested in war at all, because war is not very beneficial if you’re doing business with mostly alien planets.” Blast Off crossed his arms. “We made a deal with the Autobots to turn on Megatron together.” His engine revved low. “And they betrayed us. Apparently it was their idea of getting rid of us and eliminating one faction from the equation of war, only they chose the wrong one. Onslaught had wanted to negotiate, but Megatron wanted his rebellion.” The shuttle shrugged, and huffed condescendingly. “If the Autobots had made the right choice, we wouldn’t have been stuck on this pit-forsaken planet. The Golden Age would have continued after some rebuilding, and we never would have been locked up in the Detention Center.”

Blades listened carefully, but he still had questions.

“And that’s it.” Blast Off glared. “No more talking, no more repairing drones or things like that. Stay there, watch TV, or whatever. Just be quiet.”

Blades’ jaw clenched, and he nodded briefly, left alone with his thoughts.

No one had ever told him about that. That the Autobots betrayed someone like that. That they’d made a wrong decision ages ago and could have ended the war. He wanted to know which Autobots had suggested working with the Combaticons. He wondered if they’d called themselves Combaticons in those days. And he imagined how Cybertron would look like if the war had ended before they’d come to Earth.

Blades’ optics dimmed. He wrapped his arms around his legs and put his forehead on his knees.

He’d never have been built if the Autobots had followed the plan and had killed Megatron.

But the war would have ended, and many lives would have been spared.

And now Blades was locked in a room with someone who’d had to be locked away so that Blades could exist in the first place.

Fate took weird turns sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades wants to take a shower, and Blast Off wants Blades to be less demanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, twisted fluff  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blades stared at the purple ceiling. Today there was no drone to look at, no distraction at all. He was left alone with thoughts he didn’t want. They just wouldn't leave him alone.

The history Blast Off told him, that the last millions of years of the Cybertronian civil war were a result of a wrong decision from the people who claimed to be righteous. It was hard to comprehend, and even harder to picture any of the Autobots he knew making such a decision. 

Blades turned to lie on his side. His rotors twitched as his look fell on Blast Off’s cannons. It was like a subconscious reaction to the discomfort of knowing their power. He frowned. With Blast Off’s history so dark, and with the bad experiences he'd had, it was a miracle he could stand being with Blades in the room for so long.

Blades himself wouldn’t have been able to endure that. Not without using those cannons.

But then, Onslaught had a plan. Maybe Blast Off wasn’t allowed to harm him. In hindsight, it had to be like that seeing that Vortex hadn’t done anything to him except being the creepy person he always seemed to be.

Blades’ rotors twitched again. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the shuttle being bound to a mech like that.

Though, who knew? Maybe Blast Off liked Vortex’ craziness? There had to be a reason they’d interfaced…

And that was something Blades didn’t want to think about. He rolled onto his back once more, and dimmed his optics.

He’d tried to watch TV earlier. But the episode of MASH was a rerun, and the other programmes that had aired had been things he didn’t want to see.

At home, Blades would go to Streetwise, maybe annoy him a little. But the police car would know he didn’t mean it seriously. Or he could talk to Groove and go outside. He would help First Aid clean the repair bay, and maybe do something completely different there.

Blades grinned.

But his expression morphed an astrosecond later again.

If he felt like this at home - angry, confused or gloomy - Blades would take a shower. Hot Spot had once angrily told him to go to the washracks to cool his reckless, impudent head, and it had helped.

Blades hadn’t had a shower for weeks. The realisation hit him like a punch, and suddenly he felt dirty.

“Blast Off,” he said before he could stop himself.

Shuttle intakes vented air, and from his peripheral vision, Blades saw Blast Off sitting up at the desk. “I won’t answer any questions.”

Blades rolled his head to look at Blast Off. “No. I won’t ask any questions.” His optics flickered. “At least not, you know, _that kind_. I just… can I use the washracks?”

Like Blades’ optical sensors did before, Blast Off’s flickered. “Excuse me?”

Blades heaved himself up and sat straight. “I haven’t had a shower for so long. I feel like the filth is dripping off me. There’s maybe even some soil in my joints from the battle when-,” Blades paused. “You know, from before I got here.”

“I can see that you’re not dripping filth anywhere.”

“Is that a no?” Blades tilted his head, in hope it was just Blast Off expressing himself in an overcomplicated way again.

Yes. I don't see any reason to go to the trouble of getting you to the washracks." Blast Off shrugged, and focused on his datapad.

Blades despaired. “But why not?” It could be another distraction, a nice change from this room. “I haven’t asked for anything since I got here, I’ve never-“

“Be quiet,” Blast Off growled. He didn’t even look at Blades. “You asked a lot. Too much already. “

“But I’m not asking you to tell me anyth-“

“Be quiet!”

“I just want a shower!”

Blast Off’s engine revved louder than any other time before. It had been like that only once, at that night shortly before Blades had offlined his audials. It had another tune to it today.

“You’re a prisoner.” Blast Off’s visor gleamed, and one hand was clenched to a fist. “You are an impudent idiot. One would think you can’t discern recklessness from stupidity. Don’t dare me again.”

Blades’ rotors wilted at the memory of almost the same words from Hot Spot after he’d disobeyed orders and had put himself unnecessarily in danger. His intakes hitched, and the brackets on the rotor hub tensed and relaxed, causing the blades to wobble. For the first time after a long while of feeling almost nothing, or at least no impending danger and no overwhelming desolation, it was as if everything was about to crash on top of him.

He lay down again.

He rolled over, his legs drawn close, his face towards the back of the couch so that he didn’t need to see the shuttle.

It was difficult to suppress his intakes from hitching again, and Blades struggled to keep his voice clear from static when he muttered. “I hate you.”

It was immature, he realised that, but he didn’t care.

Blast Off didn’t answer.

\---

For most of the day, Blades tried to keep his intakes quiet and rotors still. He fell into a restless recharge after a few joors.

The sensor echoes came back, but this time there was no room for his team mates. Only defragged pictures of Blast Off, the last battle Blades was in, and the unchanging, boring room. It was like a loop, and now Blades knew how human nightmares must be.

He saw a shadow looming over him like a threatening cloud, reaching out to touch and swallow him.

Blades jerked awake. He clutched at the back rest and raised himself up, staring at Blast Off looming over him. His optics widened.

But Blast Off withdrew his hand quickly.

“You’re awake.”

Blades urged closer to the back rest. “I am.”

“Good. You were talking in your recharge.”

Blades tensed even more, and only now he realised his quick ventilation. “What… what did I say?”

“I don’t know. It was a mutter. It was annoying.”

Blades forced himself to vent more slowly and deeply. He didn’t know if he was supposed to say he was sorry. He wasn’t. He was just relieved he didn’t tell stories during recharge.

“Get up,” Blast Off ordered, causing Blades to whimper. He didn’t want to do whatev- “We’re going to the washracks.”

“Why?” Blades wanted to know as he got to his feet slowly. He still was shaking from the sensor echoes and the shock of waking up. “You said you didn’t want me to-“

“It’s an order,” Blast Off cut in. “It wasn’t my decision. How are you feeling?”

“Why do you want to know?” Blades muttered insolently, but remembered Blast Off’s reaction earlier. He added more humbly, “Not so excited, thanks to you.”

“It’s another order,” the shuttle huffed. “Don’t blame me for stating the truth. Now go.”

Blades nodded, and looked down. The chain was still on his feet, but he saw that Blast Off had the other end wrapped around his hand.

The way to the washracks was dim. The lights on the Nemesis were partly turned off, and when Blades checked his chronometer, he knew why. It was the middle of the night. Apparently the Decepticons had adapted to the rhythm of Earth’s days as well. He didn’t dare say it, or even ask why it was like that.

Blades wasn’t asking more questions. Not right then.

He walked on the leash behind Blast Off, and didn’t bother to remember the way.

The washracks weren’t painted purple. It was a brighter grey then the room Vortex had led him to, and there were several showers at each wall.

“There,” Blast Off pointed at the second shower to the left. “There’s a cloth, and cleaner is in the liquid. I hope I do not need to explain how you turn it on.”

Blades looked at the fittings, and shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Good.” Blast Off leant against the wall, reading from his datapad, and left Blades alone. The chain was on the ground, but close enough for Blast Off to reach it.

Blades wouldn’t run anyway. He had no idea where to run.

Reluctantly, he turned the water on.

It was warm and smelled nice.

“Huh,” he uttered when the first drops fell onto his helm.

“What is it?”

With a shrug, Blades turned. “I don’t know. I, uh,” he shrugged again, and felt silly for thinking that. “I kinda expected it to be salty. And cold.”

Blast Off puffed air from his vents in what could be called a dry laugh. “Thankfully, the Decepticons aren’t that uncivilised.”

The water flowed from Blades helm along his neck cables and ran over his back. It tickled on the rotor hub. It was like a massage, taking away the discomfort and the dark cloud of restlessness. It was relaxing, loosening up Blades’ joints like they hadn’t been for a very long time.

Without moving, Blades stood there for a while before he shuffled his rotors down. The drops flowed over them, and dripped down from their tips. He turned his head slightly. His optics followed the stream of water, and watched how it gathered at the end of a rotor blade.

He grinned, and flicked the blade. Thick drops were shaken off and flew through the air.

Blades repeated it a few times. First Aid liked when he did that. The medic always tried to catch the drops, or laughed when he shuffled his rotors up and down and water sprayed all over the place.

Blades glanced at Blast Off. The shuttle stared at him.

Only when his expression changed to a blank wariness, Blades realised that he’d been smiling.

“I’ll be done soon.”

Blast Off shrugged with one shoulder, and his optics dropped back to the datapad. “As long as you don’t take till tomorrow morning, I don’t care.”

“Oh,” Blades nodded. “Okay.” He still stopped playing around. Blast Off didn’t seem to be the type who understood it, least of all did so now and then. Blades wondered if he’d ever tried to catch drops falling from Vortex’ rotors, and shook his head. That was something he didn’t want to think about. With those large hands, it was probably a boring game anyway.

Blades took the cloth, and began scrubbing his armour. He wanted to get clean.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades is alone and lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, dark  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blades hadn’t recharged that well for a long time. He was clean, and warm, and when he’d come back to the room, he’d have loved to have just cuddled up on the huge berth.

But of course he had to sleep on the sofa, and Blast Off had fastened the chain to the wall. Once he’d lain down, with his legs and arms heavy, he’d fallen into a deep recharge and didn’t care about the berth any more.

There was no room for sensor echoes, and no equivalent of a nightmare.

It was already late morning when Blades woke up to Blast Off muttering a curse. The shuttle stood next to the berth, his back to Blades as he leant down. It looked as though he was rummaging through the lower half of the shelf.

Blades rebooted his optics, his processor still in a daze, and stared at Blast Off’s back - or rather aft. The shuttle's quite large purple aft, and Blades had to grin. It matched Blast Off’s personality.

Blades snickered softly at that, causing Blast Off to turn. Or maybe that wasn’t the reason, even though Blast Off looked down at him.

Blades’ rotors flicked.

The shuttle didn’t say anything. He huffed, and left with a few datapads in his hand.

Blades shrugged it off, rolled over and went back to recharge.

\---

Blast Off was still gone when Blades woke up a few hours later. The room was quiet except for the familiar hum of the Nemesis. From where Blades lay, he glanced up at the air shaft. He couldn’t deny that he was curious where the drone had gone, and if it had made something explode. Or maybe it’d set something on fire, which would have been fun to watch.

With a deep vent of intakes, Blades took the energon cube and screwdriver from the floor and sat up.

It was nice to be alone after the shuttle having been there most of the previous days. Maybe they had some sort of shift system, too. But Blades couldn’t quite think of tasks that were scheduled to be done every day that needed so many Decepticons.

He didn’t think it was going on patrol. Why would the Decepticons do that?

Blades shrugged it off and turned on the TV.

There was a documentary about animals on the African continent. Blades watched it only half listening, thinking about random things. He smiled when there was a horde of giraffes on screen. One day he had to take Groove there. He’d like those creatures.

Blades put the empty cube down, and slid down the arm rest to slouch.

He spent the rest of the day switching the TV channels and watching whatever caught his interest. It was a boring day, and it’d be nice to have a blanket or someone to cuddle with, but Blades enjoyed it still.

He perked up a little at loud footsteps from behind the door, and two voices arguing – or just talking rudely – but no one entered the room.

It was already late when Blades initiated his recharge cycle.

\---

The next morning came quickly, and Blades woke up with aching rotor blades. He’d turned during his recharge, and had twisted his rotors. He sat up with a hiss, only to cover his mouth with his hand.

There was no annoyed huff at the sound, and no angry rev of a shuttle engine or a glare of a purple visor.

Blast Off wasn’t there.

There was no energon cube on the floor.

Blades raised his optical ridges. Well, there was one, but it was still empty, and in the same spot where he’d put the cube down the day before. His risen ridges built a frown.

Hadn’t Blast Off come back last night? Blades couldn’t tell from looking at the berth since it changed back to its original form shortly after standing up.

Or maybe it was some sort of punishment or price Blades had to pay for having the trip to the washracks?

His rotors moved. One day without energon wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as though Blades had much to do, and his energy levels were okay. 

With a defiant huff, he sat straight and shuffled his rotors up. They hopefully stopped to be sore soon, and he could lie down again.

When Blades switched on the TV, the channel was showing one of those loud cartoons. He changed the program quickly. He didn’t need a headache added to his aching back.

Wasting his time once again with TV, Blades played with the screwdriver. He turned it between his fingers and sometimes it fell down into his lap. Once it fell on the couch and rolled on the floor where it produced a sound that made Blades wince.

He glanced at the door, then picked it up.

Most of the channels had already stopped airing shows or had switched to those weird sales programs late at night, and Blast Off still hadn’t come back.

Sitting, leaning his side against the back rest, Blades alternatively glanced at the TV and the door.

His systems went into recharge without him realising.

\---

Blast Off was still gone when Blades woke up. According to his chronometer, it was already midday.

The empty energon cube hadn’t moved, and nothing had changed in the room.

Blades had been confused at noises for the first few astroseconds after waking up. The TV had still been running. He’d muted the sound, and groaned in displeasure.

His rotors didn’t hurt today, but his stabilisers were strained from the sitting positioned in which he’d recharged.

“Stupid shuttle,” Blades muttered, and couldn’t even say why he was annoyed. His mood wasn’t the best overall, and the irritating human TV only added to his bad temper. The screen cast a flickering light in the otherwise dim room, and Blades wondered if he could turn the lights brighter.

Blast Off did that sometimes with his voice, and then sometimes without seemingly doing anything.

“Uh,” he began, feeling stupid for talking to no one. “Lights on?”

Nothing happened.

Blades frowned. Maybe it was the wrong order, considering that it wasn’t completely dark.

“Lights brighter?” he tried, and still felt like an idiot.

Again nothing changed, and he gave up. Blast Off would be back soon, and if the settings were different, he might punish Blades for tinkering with his quarters.

Hopefully Blast Off would come back.

Blades energy level was at 63 percent. It was still okay, but it’d be better for his systems not to drop much lower.

Yes, it’d be definitely better if Blast Off was back today, and it had nothing to do with Blades feeling lonely.

He didn’t admit to himself that it got to him. It was even worse than the first few days before he got used to the situation and being cut off from his team.

And it grated on Blades even more.

His engine gave a quick rev, and his vents exhaled air.

Blades would have loved to have a punching bag, or anything to let off some steam. With another deep vent, he dared stand up. His equilibrium chip gave in, and a warning popped up in his HUD. His back stabilisers took a moment longer to adjust, and his energy level suddenly dropped from 63 to 58 percent.

Blades almost sat down again. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t have a punching bag if he already swayed while standing.

Trying to ignore the feeling, he paced through the room. His legs felt weird being used again after two days of sitting, but it was good for the mechanisms in his back. Blades’ swash plate spun a little, and he let his rotors move.

It was good, but risky.

Glancing at the door more often than not, he expected the shuttle to come back any moment. He maybe even had some sort of sense for Blades breaking the rule of not being allowed to get up and open the door the moment Blades was right in front of it.

Expecting it to happen, he stood near the door quite often, sometimes poking the red blinking light of the lock.

But Blast Off didn’t come in.

Hours passed that way, and Blades became tired.

“Stupid shuttle,” he said again, as he sat down on the edge of the berth. Blast Off didn’t deserve his rules to be followed if he wasn’t here anyway.

Blades had thought the Combaticons had a plan, and he was part of it, and they took care that he didn’t starve or whatever.

He sighed, and drew his legs close. He put his feet on the edge of the berth and stared at the door.

What was taking Blast Off so long?

The TV was still running with the sound muted, and the changing light lulled Blades into a hazy state of drowsiness. Only when the screen when dark for a moment, he re-booted his optics, and looked up.

He should go back to the couch and recharge. He wasn’t really tired, but not awake either.

And the berth was so comfortable and nice. It was warmer than the sofa, too.

If Blast Off was still gone, Blades could very well just lie down and sleep there.

He nodded briefly as if to approve of his decision, and let himself fall to a side to lie on the foot end of the berth. He took care that he didn’t pull the chain on his ankle.

It was really comfy, Blades thought, and dimmed his optics. From there, he could see the air shaft were the drone had vanished. It’d be nice if it came back to say hello. Blades could take another look if everything was all right. But he knew the drone wasn’t sentient and didn’t care who repaired it, or how awfully lonely Blades felt.

His rotors twitched. He missed flying. His universe had been reduced to this tiny room.

Venting deeply, Blades offlined his optics. He hoped he still knew how to fly if he was ever able to see the sky again.

\---

Blades lay on the berth for hours the next day. He hadn’t moved after waking up and felt tired and worn out without having done anything. He blocked the announcements of his energy level in his HUD. He didn’t want to know.

It was the fourth day that Blast Off was gone, but it felt like the tenth or even more.

Time lost its meaning once again.

The TV was switched on, but on mute, Blades was not paying attention to it.

He spent the whole day in a slumber, and later when his chronometer showed it was night time, he initiated a forced recharge cycle.

\---

One day passed, maybe two, Blades didn’t bother counting while he was still on the berth. His energy level had to be pretty low by now, but he didn’t dare look.

He’d pondered a few things while doing nothing else, but none of them were worth remembering.

The only thought that had remained, and came back now and then when Blades had lost track, was that this was punishment. To show that he was still a prisoner. It was perhaps even to break him, so that he started to tell them things. Blades wasn’t sure that this was part of the plan, but he strongly guessed so.

Or not?

What would the Combaticons gain from Blades almost starving?

And where was Blast Off all the time?

Combaticon HQ was done for. Blades remembered how they’d left it. Even the Constructicons would need a while to rebuild it, and they still had other things to do, too.

But Blades had been on the Nemesis for ages now. Maybe the Combaticons had moved and forgotten about him? But Blast Off wouldn’t forget his 3D projector. The shuttle had tried to repair it and worked on it for so long now. He also still had his own stash of energon behind the panel on the wall.

Blades’ optics widened.

Why hadn’t he thought about that earlier?

He slowly sat up. His head spun until his equilibrium caught up on the movement. He looked at the spot where Blast Off had taken out his cube. It was at the other side of the berth, next to the head end.

Blades got on all fours and scrambled to the other side.

He didn’t get far.

He shrieked.

When the chain tautened, it sent a shock up Blades’ leg. It made him sink down on the berth, and he landed flat on his front. His optics flickered and rotors twitched at the pain in his leg.

Whimpers left Blades’ vocaliser, and he scolded himself for forgetting about being bound to the wall.

He vented deeply a few times, and tried to edge closer to the panel without pulling on the chain, but he didn’t get close enough. He reached the other side of the head end of the berth if he stretched his arms, but it was still too far away.

Blades buried his face in the soft covering of the berth, venting through the intakes on his sides. He needed to get that energon.

A flicker of motivation driven by panic drowned out the apathy, and Blades got up as quickly as he could.

He remembered the screwdriver and other tools with that he could hopefully get rid of this stupid leash. Being back on the couch with several things, a welder included, he began to work on the restraints.

Two hours and 46 minutes later, Blades slumped on the couch. His legs and arms hurt in a weird mix of numb soreness and the chain hadn’t moved an inch. The mechanisms had sent shocks through him so often, he could hardly hold anything.

It was useless.

Blades stared at the muted TV, but couldn’t process what was airing. He needed to find a solution.

Glancing at the panel on the wall behind which the energon sat, he sighed. But even that hurt his strained circuits. He shook his head briefly, and stared again at the screen.

It took him a moment until he realised that the program had changed. The news were on, interrupting the gardening show that had aired before.

When Blades saw Optimus Prime on screen, he perked up.

Another fight.

He turned on the volume.

The Decepticons tried to heat up a huge lake with an equally huge mirror that reflected and gathered the sunlight.

Blades’ optics flickered. How did Megatron get those ideas? All the time? Not to mention, what was even the purpose of turning a lake into steam? Blades was confused. And then stumble-crawled closer to the TV.

He’d seen Vortex there, flying over the lake and shooting at Autobots. If he was there, Blast Off couldn’t be far away, right?

Somewhere there had to be a purple-brown mech or shuttle. Blades looked for him, but all he saw were Onslaught in alt-mode and the purple seeker. Blast Off might be hovering over the lake. Or was he already injured?

Blades tensed at the thought.

The image of the battlefield was cut when Prowl told the humans to leave the area. The news reporter protested, but it was useless.

Blades couldn’t help but be annoyed at the Autobot second-in-command. How was he supposed to look for Blast Off now?

Fortunately, the humans still showed what was happening from afar.

The battle turned, and the Decepticons retreated. Most of them flew themselves, but some entered a purple space shuttle.

Blades’ rotors bobbed. It could be Blast Off. Or not. He wasn’t sure. The Decepticons had this other shuttle, the triple changer who was purple as well.

But it was possible that it was Blast Off, Blades thought, and tried not to be too hopeful.

Quickly, as though the shuttle would open the door any second, he gathered the tools and got up. He swayed on sore legs, and had to clutch at the edge of the desk when he rearranged the equipment.

Blades kept the screwdriver.

Back on the couch, he pretended to watch TV with the tool in his hand. He’d give it back to Blast Off the moment he came. He didn’t want Blast Off to think he'd forgotten their unspoken agreement, even though he’d had the screwdriver for so long.

Optics flicking to the door every few astroseconds, Blades leant against the arm rest, his legs close to his front.

He waited.

Hours passed.

No one came.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades tries to take his mind of things. Hopefully Blast Off won’t be annoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title:** Chamber Play  
>  **Chapter:** 09/15  
>  **Continuity:** G1  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
> _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, twisted fluff  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Someone leant low, and cast a shadow over Blades; a large, dark frame reaching out probably to wake him up.

But Blades was awake. He just pretended to be in recharge. The large figure would touch him, and it wouldn’t be unwelcome.

Blades awoke confused. He looked up, expecting Blast Off, but no one was there.

The room was empty. 

“Blast Off?” Blades asked, voice as drowsy as his processor that hadn’t fully booted. When his CPU caught up, and his systems were online, Blades still didn’t bother to sit up. There was no reason to when there was nothing to do, no one to talk to and no energon to drink.

Another day passed without getting up during which Blades wondered if Blast Off had been hurt. He could have crashed and be in medbay, or the Autobots could have shot and captured him.

After the battle, Blast Off's team mates might remember Blades was in this room and no one was there to stop them this time.

With all this in mind, and his rotors trembling in fear, or because he was underenergised, Blades curled up to a ball. He didn’t want to admit he was afraid, but the low energy got to him, and with it the worry that Blast Off might not come back to give him energon.

He didn’t want to die on the Nemesis because of energon starvation of all reasons.

\---

The next morning began like the evening had started.

Blades’ thoughts ran in a cycle, in which worry, fear and anger joined hands.

If all this was because of the Combaticons wanting to break him, he had to show him that they needed to try something else. He wasn’t dependant on them. Blades didn’t need them to feed him.

He still refused to check his energy level, but he guessed it was lower than 20 percent, since he was dizzy and felt sick as he sat up. He'd once been shot on the battlefield and had lost lots of energon. It had dropped to 18 percent, and he'd felt just like this.

He huffed in deviance.

He needed something to do. Something to distract him from his aching tanks and almost unbearable thirst. 

Watching TV wasn’t an option. It was dull, and only led to Blades thinking about other things and not paying attention. He also wouldn’t try to get rid of his chain again. He now knew for sure that it didn’t work, and only made his joints ache.

Absent-mindedly, Blades glanced around.

Something. There had to be _anything_ other than sitting around.

Carefully Blades dared get up. He had to hold the arm rest for purchase, but it was okay after a moment. He let go, and started pacing again.

Blades always kept in mind the range he was able to walk around in. He didn’t need to measure it. It was only a few steps to the desk, and a few steps to the door. 

Altogether they formed a radius around the corner of the berth, but even they exhausted Blades. Reluctantly, not really wanting to give in, he sat down on the chair near the desk.

He could probably do something with the tools, but what, if it wasn’t repairing a drone or trying to take his chains off? Blades counted them. Altogether 8 tools were on the desk, next to the projector and a datapad that was connected to it.

He puffed air from his vents in a huff. Blast Off still hadn’t repaired it. Blades wondered why, but perhaps it was because of the shuttle's huge hands. The device wasn’t particularly big, and Blast Off could easily damage it by just holding it, Blades was sure.

Considering this, it was pretty obvious why it took so long to be repaired.

Blades turned on the chair to face the device. He would try his luck on it. It couldn’t get worse. Not glancing at the door this time, Blades didn’t expect Blast Off to come in. Even if he did, what could the shuttle do? Blades was already feeling miserable. 

He carefully opened a panel on the lower half of the device that looked like a thick cylindrical metal… well, something. And it was black; that was everything Blades could say about it. Its innards didn’t seem any more exciting, because all he saw was circuits and something that could be a hard drive.

Suddenly attempting to repair it didn’t appear such a good idea any more.

Firstly, Blades thought, he should try to find the 'on' button. There had to be one.

Picking it up, and turning it in his hands, Blades didn’t find anything remotely resembling a switch. He shrugged, and took more panels off, until only the upper half was still covered by black metal.

Blades inspected the circuit boards as well as he was able. The dim light made it hard to see everything, and even adjusting his optical input wasn’t always helpful. His patience ran out after only a breem.

He put his chin on his hands, and merely stared at the device. Thoughts began drifting again, and they had nothing to do with repairing anything.

Blades remained like that for a while, until his HUD flickered, and a warning appeared.

>>> Energy level: low

It didn’t say how low it was; the block that Blades had put in place was still set. He sighed, and crossed his arms on the table, resting his head on them.

It was cold now. The warmth of the shower was long gone; it was as though the icy temperature from the water outside swept into the Nemesis.

Blades tried to hear the water flowing under the hum of the ship, but he couldn’t detect anything.

His optics flickered a few times, but he refused to let them go offline. He didn’t want to recharge again. He’d just woken up, even though his time awake felt as though it’d been cycles.

Staring at the 3D projector, Blades shifted the setting of his visual input every few astroseconds. He increased the contrast and brightness, switched to infra-red, and back again. He repeated it for what seemed like hours, until he stopped, and froze.

On one of the circuit boards a trace - one of the lines on the board - was damaged. It was disrupted, and the gap was very tiny, hardly visible and only at a much distorted visual setting.

Not raising himself, Blades fumbled for a tool, not caring which one, and closed the gap with the metal tip of it. The device rattled.

Blades withdrew it quickly, a rush of panic washing over him.

Had he just found the source of the fault?

Optics rebooting, Blades sat up. He closed the gap once more and the device did something again. The top opened, parted into two flaps that were drawn in the same time some sort of ball with lenses emerged. Light flickered behind them, but before anything more happened, Blades put the tool down.

He took the small welder instead. It was quite a challenge to repair the tiny area of damage, because Blades’ hands were trembling, and he didn’t want to ruin the circuit board.

It took him a while, but once it was done, even before the metal had cooled down and was completely solid again, the projector worked. The ball started moving.

It flickered a few more times, and then it was as though the room was dipped in darkness. A black cloud surrounded Blades. His ventilation stopped.

Only after another few astroseconds, he realised what it was. Small dots of light broke through the half-transparent cloud, and whirls formed out of nowhere, growing until they stopped spinning and created colourful nebulas.

Blades stared in a mix of awe and confusion.

He’d repaired Blast Off’s 3D projector. And it was awesome. Too bad he had no idea how to shut it down.

Grinning to himself, Blades lay down on the desk again, watching the nebulas and stars shift, change and move. 

\---

“Wake up,” a voice said. It was blank, but with an undertone of exhaustion. There was a hand on Blades’ shoulder, a gentle touch, warm.

Blades was in recharge, he knew. And yet again, he had the sensor echo of Blast Off standing close. His frame blocked out the light of the stars in the projected space.

Blades huffed, and rebooted his optics, only now realising that he’d been awake, staring up at the shuttle the whole time.

Blades tensed, but the shuttle didn’t say anything. He just stared back, with his battle mask withdrawn. He looked tired.

“You repaired it,” Blast Off said, and Blades nodded briefly, still not moving.

Blast Off was back, he thought, his processor spinning around that fact.

“I did,” Blades eventually answered, his rotor giving a twitch. “I had nothing else to do,” he added, trying only a little to be antagonising. He regretted his words the moment Blast Off leant low.

But the shuttle didn’t touch Blades again. The ‘copter’s optics followed Blast Off’s hand, observing it touching the lenses covered ball with two fingers. He flared his field from his hand and arm, Blades could sense it. It was as warm and gentle as the real touch before, and the signature carried a hidden order.

The 3D projector deactivated, the lenses stopped, the ball was retracted and the device’s top closed.

No wonder Blades hadn’t found a switch.

Wordlessly, Blast Off placed a full cube of high grade in front of Blades before he sat down on the berth. He was in arm's reach. Sitting there quietly, he didn’t make a fuss about Blades sitting at the desk or touching the device.

The ‘copter hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t used to Blast Off being that close without being grumpy or angry, and he had the urge to reach out. The projecting heat shield on the lower arm was tempting. It looked abrasive in the light, and Blades wanted to know if it really was.

But he didn’t touch Blast Off. Instead, he straightened himself, and cracked his cube open.

The smell of energon made his tank lurch in the first moment, but at the first sip, Blades couldn’t stop drinking. He downed the cube in one go, feeling the energon being processed and dormant systems activating again. It was refreshing, and suddenly Blades’ fatigue was gone. 

Blast Off’s exhaustion apparently wasn’t affected by the fuel. He sat slumped on the berth, seemingly forcing himself to drink.

“Where have you been?” Blades asked, breaking the silence.

Blast Off shrugged. “Space”, was the short answer.

Blades raised an optical ridge. “For so long?”

The shuttle vented air deeply, drinking the last bit of his energon, and put the cube down on the floor. He shuffled back on the berth, and lay down. “You always ask so many questions.”

Blades bit his lower lip, remembering the shuttle’s outburst when he’d asked for the shower. It had been so long ago. “Sorry.”

The shuttle’s shoulders twitched again. “Don’t be,” he muttered, optics already offline as he shifted a little and settled on his back. He was out of reach now. “Curiosity is a good thing. It helps in gaining knowledge. Just…” Blast Off trailed off as though already being in recharge. His silence lasted 35 astroseconds before he continued. “…be curious some other time.”

At that, Blades had to gin.

In hindsight, he should have guessed that Blast Off had been in space. After all, the mech was a space shuttle.

Blades just wasn’t used to people having a space faring alt-mode. Even Skyfire who was also a shuttle was hardly ever in space. Blades wondered why.

But that didn’t matter. He should be angry at Blast Off instead for leaving without saying a word, and without leaving any energon and letting him starve like that. Though he couldn’t be really annoyed, not with having seen the shuttle being tired like that.

The short moment of wakefulness passed, and Blades’ tiredness came back. It was a different kind of tiredness than before, more content and warmer.

He should go back to his sofa and lie down, even though the temptation to snuggle up on the comfy berth was strong. The other’s energy field had been warm before, and the shuttle’s frame would be like a heater if Blades got close enough.

But it would be a bad idea. He didn’t think Blast Off was keen on waking up next to Blades with the only explanation being that he was warm.

Blades huffed, amused at himself.

With a last glance at the 3D projector, he stood up, and went to the couch. Once he’d lain down, Blades fell into a peaceful recharge.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blast Off is back and only sleeps. Blades waits, and there’s an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, twisted fluff  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Jazz  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blast Off slept through the next day. He’d rolled over on his front, his arm dangling from the berth and his face buried in the soft covering.

It made Blades grin.

He’d spent the day watching TV, looking at the shuttle now and then when he moved or his ailerons clicked.

The ‘copter huffed. And Blast Off had said Blades talking in his sleep was annoying.

He wasn’t angry at it, and he didn’t panic at this idea this might be another day without energon. Blades knew Blast Off was back. The shuttle would get him something as soon he woke up. It just seemed to take a while, considering how bad the other had looked when he’d come back.

When it was night time again, and Blast Off still hadn’t stirred, Blades wondered what had been so exhausting in space.

If the shuttle was in the right mood later, he might ask. After all, Blades’ questions apparently hadn’t annoyed Blast Off that much considering he’d kind of offered to be asked about things some time later.

Blades grinned at that, and turned the TV off.

The room went dark.

It was easier to settle to recharge now that Blades wasn’t alone any longer, and his first systems shut down by themselves.

\---

Blades winced, his legs jerked, as his comm equipment pinged. At first he thought it was another sensor echo, but it pinged again and a forced communication came through.

//Hey Blades, how’re you doing?//

It was a familiar voice that took Blades completely off-guard. //Jazz?// Why the pit did his comm equipment suddenly work?

//That’s my name, kiddo. How’re you holding up?//

//I’m… I’m okay, I guess.// Blades sat up. //Why can you comm me? My comm’s jammed. I’ve tried.// It was true that he’d tried, but Blades hadn’t done so for the last few weeks. He couldn’t sense his team mates through the gestalt bond either, so he just guessed he couldn’t contact anyone.

//I just entered the Nemesis, guess I’m in close comm-range now.// Jazz answered, his voice more troubled than usual, but still with the familiar easy-going manner. //Seriously, those Deceticreeps are a bunch of weirdos. How did they manage to flood the brig?//

//I never asked,// Blades replied, realising that he should have. He’d do so when Blast Off was awake. He was curious now. //How do you know about the brig?// Hopefully Jazz hadn’t gone there first expecting Blades.

//I came in through one of the air shafts – or rather water shafts now. Where are you?//

//I’m with Blast Off in his quarters.// Blades looked at the sleeping shuttle. His ventilation system worked slowly, but he didn’t make any other sound.

//Uh, well, that’s actually not very helpful. I don’t have a map of the Decepticons’ quarters, you know. Any other hints to give?// Jazz said, then muttered an unintelligible curse.

Blades shifted on the couch. //Not really?// He wasn’t sure what to say, or to think. Was Jazz here to free him? But Blast Off had just come back. //I was only let out twice, and the corridors all look the same.//

//Well, frag.// Jazz swore anew. //So, you’ve been in a Decepticon’s private room for the whole time? They… didn’t do anything to you, did they?//

Blades glanced at Blast Off. The shuttle wasn’t a real Decepticon, he thought.

Blast Off moved slightly. The vents on the side exhaled air loudly twice, then he rolled over to his side, groping next to him as though searching for something.

Blades tensed.

//Uh, no.// Blast Off had never done anything. //They just put me on a leash. And, uh,// Blades wasn’t sure if he should mention it, but he didn’t want Jazz to kill the shuttle. Blast Off wasn’t that bad, and the saboteur might be way smaller than the Combaticon, but he was head of special ops for a reason. //Once they tried something, but Blast Off sorta punched them once and they were scrap metal.//

//Huh? Okay, that’s, ehm, good, I guess,// Jazz muttered. 

//You’re here to get me?// Blades glanced at the vent shaft in Blast Off’s room, asking himself how he was supposed to fit through something like that.

//Among other things, yes. Bringing you home is on my agenda.// Jazz sounded distracted.

Blades tipped his head to a side. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask what those other things were. Blades wasn’t in a position to demand information like this because of neither his rank nor his occupation. He resisted asking, but he had another question the other might be able to answer.

//Jazz?// he began, reluctantly.

//What’s up, kiddo?// There was a clanking noise through the comm-link, as though a mech falling to the ground.

//What’s the Detention Center?// Blades hadn’t dared ask Blast Off again after the rant, but he wanted to know what that kind of jail was. Jazz had been around that time of the war, he should know.

//Why do you want to know?// The counter question came after a short hesitation.

Blades shrugged to himself. //I’m just nosy.//

For a moment of about a klik there was silence over the comm.

//It’s a special kind of prison and punishment,// Jazz answered eventually. //It’s cruel. They used to take out a person’s personality component, and they locked it away.//

//Locked it away?// Blades uttered, his thoughts spinning. //Like, in a box?// Blades stared at Blast Off. It all started to make sense now. He remembered the shuttle’s words from their first meeting that there were worse prisons to be in. //Were they awake in there?// The ‘copter couldn’t imagine how that would be. His rotors twitched, and he shuddered.

//Why do you ask all this?// Suspicion entered Jazz’ tone. //What did the Combaticons tell you?//

//I-// Blades felt caught. //Nothing, there was just this Octane guy at the door, mentioning things to Blast Off.// It’s wasn’t completely a lie, but he didn’t want Jazz to know that he knew about the Autobots’ betrayal. If they’d been like that to allies back on Cybertron, Blades didn’t know how they reacted to witnesses. Maybe they’d leave him there in Megatron’s hands.

//Listen, kiddo, there’s lots to tell. Whatever they said to you…// Jazz sighed. //The history with us and the Combaticons goes way back, but we’re going to make up for it. I’m sorry that you got caught up in-// Jazz stopped mid-sentence. Noise of laser fire was audible through the comm. A scream that wasn’t Jazz’, and heavy steps followed.

//Slaggit,// the saboteur hissed. //I have to leave. Soundwave’s close. He knows I’m here. I gotta go silent. You’ll be free soon, just give us a few more days. Your team told me to tell you they miss you.//

The comm-link was cut.

Blades sat in the room, incapable of clear thoughts, his emotions a mixture of relief and disappointment as he was glad that he could stay, but sad that he wouldn’t see his team again soon. He hadn’t thought about them for a while.

Blades knew that it was wrong to be happy to stay, but the idea of having to leave, of the change and the open sky, was scary. He knew that it wasn’t right. His jaw clenched.

The door opened.

Blades winced. He hadn’t paid attention to the noises outside.

Onslaught entered, and the lights turned on. His steps were loud on the metal floor, determined. He didn’t look at Blades and went straight to Blast Off.

“Wake up.” Onslaught’s voice was demanding, a command.

Blast Off didn’t react.

Onslaught’s engine revved. He reached out for the shuttle, shaking him by the shoulder, and almost yelled as he repeated the order.

The Combaticon commander had to do it two more times until Blast Off grumbled something hardly understandable.

“Get up,” Onslaught said before Blast Off even sat. “We need you in space.”

It took a moment, movements sluggish and visor dim, before Blast Off had raised himself up. His posture still a picture of exhaustion. Onslaught stood next to him, taking out a cube from his compartment.

“Drink that.” It looked as though Onslaught forced the energon into Blast Off’s hand. “Mission briefing in 10.” With that, he turned. Now his orange visor pointed at Blades, and the ‘copter couldn’t stop himself from tensing.

The commander’s face was completely hidden. He had no idea what that stare meant. It probably had something to do with Jazz. Did the saboteur mess up Onslaught’s plan?

Blades didn’t dare ask, and only relaxed again when Onslaught had left and the door was completely closed.

He vented air in a deep, quiet sigh, trying not to shake and to stop his rotors from twitching. The latter didn’t work so well, as though his tension needed an outlet.

“Blast Off?” Blades asked as the shuttle’s optics were offline again, and the cube still half full.

The shuttle winced at his name, and glanced up.

“Uh,” Blades wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, and Blast Off didn’t seem as though he was very talkative. It looked like he could fall back in recharge any moment.

Blast Off’s intakes worked loudly for two deep vents before he downed the rest of the cube.

“Thanks for keeping me awake,” Blast Off said.

Blades didn’t know if he was honest.

Only when he earned himself a nod from the shuttle, Blades was sure his action had been appreciated. 

With a prolonged huff, Blast Off stood up, swaying for a moment. Wordlessly he left the room. The lights were still on, and the berth slowly sprung back into its default form, as if Blast Off had never lain there.

Blades leant with his side against the backrest, still trying to control the twitching of his rotors. He didn’t want Blast Off to go back to space. It’d mean more starving and isolation, Blades didn’t know if he could cope with that.

But with Blast Off in space, Jazz could come back and free him more easily. At least Blades wouldn’t need to worry about Blast Off and Jazz fighting and hurting each other.

Musing on all the possible events of the next few days, Blades slowly slipped into a light recharge.

He was still leaning on the backrest when the door opened again. Blades’ optics flickered, his vision was blurry.

After checking his chronometer, he realised that over a joor had passed. And once more there was a dark figure in the room.

Those sensor echoes became annoying.

“I put some energon there.” It was Blast Off’s voice and caused Blades to calibrate his visual input.

The shuttle really was by the desk where two full cubes were sitting. He took two datapads, and turned to leave again.

“Thank you,” Blades said before he could even think about it, and added drowsily. “How long will you be gone?”

Blast Off stopped in front of him. He shrugged. “I don’t know. No longer than two or three days.”

With Blades glancing up from beneath, the shuttle appeared to be so tall. Blades’ optics flicked to the side, and back to Blast Off. He nodded.

Blast Off huffed. “Don’t do anything stupid.” The voice was staticky, from exhaustion perhaps?

“Never,” Blades said and grinned. His grin faltered as Blast Off raised his arm. The shuttle patted him on the head, making Blades tense in surprise.

His optical sensors widened, though he managed to keep composure. He wanted to snap something witty, but Blast Off was already gone.

Blades shook his head at himself, and couldn’t stop grinning.

\---

When Blades woke up, he forced his systems into another few hours of recharge. The longer he was asleep, the quicker the time would pass and Blast Off would be back.

His time alone this time would be less awful. There was energon on the desk, and Blades knew where the shuttle went. 

It was afternoon when Blades turned on the TV, watching his shows and expecting a news cast any second.

There was no interruption. Having gotten a cube, Blades struggled through the human news show. Maybe they would report anything about another fight of the Autobots and Decepticons. But they were only about human politics and some natural disaster where Blades couldn’t help, and he was reminded why he didn’t like watching the news.

Slouching on the couch, his position started to make his rotors ache.

Blades’ optics flicked to the berth. He _could_ get on there again. It was warmer and softer and much more comfortable. Although Blast Off wouldn’t be happy if he came back and Blades had walked around again and recharged on his berth. But then, the shuttle hadn’t said anything about him sitting at the desk, not even about having touched and repaired the 3D-projector.

Pondering on that a little longer, Blades decided against getting up. He shifted into another position, and tuned the TV off.

A forced system shutdown failed, because he’d recharged so long during the day. It left Blades restless. Night time approached, and with it the expectation that Jazz would come.

It was a mixture of excited anticipation and dread which Blades couldn’t explain himself.

Jazz didn’t come, and neither did Blast Off.

Blades spent the night mostly awake, and only slept a few hours at the early morning. Switching the screen back on, the human programs rained down on him, meaningless and boring.

They didn’t help against the crawling apathy that returned with his being completely alone.

It was hard to stop himself from checking his chronometer every few kliks. 

The second day dragged on and stuck like glue. It was as though Blades could almost reach out and grab solid time.

Waiting was more tiring than not expecting anything, and Blades didn’t dare go to sleep even though his systems wanted him to.

Blast Off had said it wouldn’t take longer than two or three days, so he’d be back any minute. He didn’t want to slip into recharge and experience that sensor echo again, only to wake up with no one there.

As for all his determination, Blades’ systems finally gave in.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blast Off comes back from space…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, twisted fluff, Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, smut (of the p’n’p kind), energy field play, space play, sensor net manipulation, dub-con concerning a certain part of the smut  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** R

Something creaked, and light flickered, filtered through partially working visual sensors. Blades’ head jolted up, optics coming fully online, taking in the view of Blast Off closing the door.

Sudden relief replaced the surprise and tiredness, and Blades grinned.

Blast Off looked at him, and Blades’ expression changed. The shuttle looked worn out and battered. Had he been in a fight again?

“You’re always in recharge,” Blast Off said by way of greeting, but his voice lacked a judging tone.

“Hmpf,” Blades sat up and flicked his rotors. He crossed his arms. “Only because I’m tired of waiting for you.”

It was the scary truth.

Blades tensed.

The shuttle merely sighed, and shook his head as he limped towards the berth. One wing looked disgustingly twisted, and Blast Off winced at every step.

He took some of the tools from the desk, and sat down on the berth, inhaling deeply. 

Blades hadn’t been in recharge for long when Blast Off had come back, and the ‘copter was still exhausted. But he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Drawing his legs close, he leant with his side against the backrest, watching Blast Off prepare to repair the damage.

There hadn’t been a battle on the news. How had Blast Off got that damage?

Silence stretched between them, but eventually Blades broke it.

“What happened to your wing?”

Blast Off continued working, not looking up as his wing flapped down a little and he took a plate off his lower leg. He shrugged. “Well, I didn’t stumble and fall, so do the maths.” The shuttle wasn’t annoyed, but focused.

Blades frowned. “You crashed? Or was there another fight?”

“Both.”

“Oh,” Blades uttered, not sure if he should apologise. If another Autobot had damaged him, it probably wouldn't be appropriate. “Why aren’t you going to medbay?” Blades asked instead.

“It’s not that bad, and the Constructicons have more important things to take care of.” Blast Off took the tiny welder, and did something Blades couldn’t see.

“Like what?” Blades wanted to know. The shuttle’s tone made him guess they just didn’t want to repair him. They perhaps didn’t get along well?

At that, Blast Off raised his head, his visor dim. “Like keeping Vortex alive. His damage is far worse than mine.”

Tension crawled up Blades’ back struts and made his rotors twitch. He felt guilty that his comrades injured Blast Off’s team mate that badly. It was weird to see it that way, to realise that the war caused situations like that on both sides.

Blast Off didn’t appear to worry, but maybe he just didn’t want to show it in front of Blades.

“I’m sorry,” the ‘copter couldn’t stop himself from apologising now. “How did it happen?”

Blast Off shrugged as he began working again. “It’s his own fault. He tried to fight the loyalty program, and lost control. He crashed into one of your flyboys.”

Flyboys? Blades tilted his head. He guessed the shuttle meant the Aerialbots. The Autobots didn’t have that many flyers. But that wasn’t what made him frown. “Loyalty program? What’s that?”

“Hmpf,” Blast Off huffed, picking up a different tool. “I already told you. Megatron’s failsafe program to keep us in line. Otherwise we’d have already killed him, or at least tried again.”

Blades’ optics rebooted. “Uh, no, you haven’t told me.”

“Well, I told you now.” Blast Off’s tone was grumpier.

“You mean,” Blades began and glanced at the wall, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Like, you have to do whatever he says?”

Blast Off vented air loudly, shoulders slumped. “Yes. And now enough of that. I don’t need to be reminded of it every astrosecond. Can you be quiet now? I have to focus on my repairs.”

While it was phrased as a question, Blades knew it was a demand. He remained silent, having enough to think about for the moment. That the Combaticons still fought for Megatron made sense now, but it was one more horrible thing that added to the already terrible betrayal by the Autobots.

Blades' relationship to his officers felt suddenly wrong, and they seemed so far away. Out of reach from his current situation, and Blades wasn’t even sure if he wanted Jazz to come back. He had said something about making up to the Combaticons, but how could they do that when so much had already gone bad between them?

Blades kept watching Blast Off, but the visual input didn’t register completely. He noticed that the shuttle had put the plate back into place, and the wing didn’t look that twisted any more.

Blast Off put most of the tools away, rearranging himself on the berth and trying to reach behind him. At least that was how it looked, as though he was trying to grab something that stuck to his back.

That odd movement caught Blades’ attention. Dragged out of his gloomy musings, he raised an optical ridge at what Blast Off was doing.

It looked funny when the shuttle groped his own back, and almost made his shoulder joint creak.

Blades observed it for another few klicks before he just couldn’t watch it any longer.

“Okay, I have to ask: what are you doing?”

Blast Off looked at him as though surprised at Blades still being there. “I,” he began, then pondered. “I’m repairing the damage.”

“You want to repair the damage on your own back? Without a drone? Or even a mirror?” Blades sounded doubtful. He knew from his own experience that this wouldn’t work. It was like trying to repair his swash-plate. He’d attempted it once, and had failed miserably.

Blast Off tensed visibly. He spat. “Well, apparently I am. There’s not much else I can do, is there?”

Blades shrugged, he sensed his rotors moving. “Uh, well, you could ask me for help?”

Blast Off huffed, his annoyance noticeably increasing. “As if you could help me.”

“What? I did repair the drone. And your weird 3D device thingy,” Blades countered. He wasn’t _that_ clumsy.

Blast Off didn’t answer, instead he reached behind himself again. Blades shook his head. The shuttle was a stupid stubborn aft. He was probably just too proud to accept help from an Autobot. An Autobot even that was so much younger than him.

Blades crossed his arms as he got an idea. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” That way, he might get something out of that as well. “I take care of whatever it is that’s off on your back, and you let me recharge on the berth tonight.”

Blast Off laughed drily. “ _Right_. How about I let you live if you shut up already?”

“How about you let me live because otherwise you'll have no one repair you tonight? I mean, _I_ don’t have to recharge on a broken back. I don’t care.” Blades shrugged exaggeratedly, and pinged the TV to activate. He would have liked to recharge on the berth again, and not only on the foot end, but he wasn’t going to beg. He wasn’t that desperate to recharge on that soft, comfortable berth.

Blast Off muttered something unintelligible. Blades would have been able to understand it if the TV show wasn’t drowning out most of the other’s voice.

From his peripheral vision, the ‘copter saw Blast Off repeating those hilarious and awkwardly looking movements, but he didn’t succeed. Only a few astroseconds after he dropped his hand on his thigh, Blast Off slumped once more.

“Fine,” he announced loudly.

Blades turned his head.

Blast Off glared. “You can recharge on the berth tonight if you get this done right. But don’t touch me!”

The ‘copter’s blue optics blinked. “Uh, how am I supposed to repair the damage without touching you?”

Blast Off sighed in annoyance. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t touch me when you recharge on the berth.”

“I guess I can do that?” Blades didn’t really know why he needed that warning , but he should stop questioning the shuttle. He turned the TV off. “Okay, so we have a deal?”

Blast Off nodded. “You’re a pretty greedy prisoner,” he mumbled as he got up. He needed way fewer steps than Blades would have for the small distance from the berth to the couch.

Once again Blades found himself impressed how tall the shuttle was, the size difference more prominent now that he was so close.

“Your foot. I’m not going to kneel down.”

“Oh, uh…” Blades looked up. Was he supposed to raise his leg like that? Still sitting on the couch, he lifted his chained leg a little. Blades hadn’t really expected the chain to be taken off, but he wouldn’t complain.

Blast Off bent down a little, and caught the ankle, heaving it up, and causing Blades to half sit half lie in an awkward and embarrassing position on the couch.

Thankfully the shuttle didn’t need long to take the chain off, and it clattered to the ground, its energon stream dimming.

When Blast Off let go of the foot, it almost hit the floor. Blades glared at the other, but the shuttle was already on the way back to the berth.

It was in that moment that Blades saw what was wrong with the other. The back plates of the heat resistance shield were displaced. He couldn’t relate to how it felt, but he didn’t think it could be comfortable.

Blades reluctantly stood up, not sure what to do. Should he wait until Blast Off had sat down? Would the other lie on the berth? Or sat on the edge, back facing to him, so that Blades had to stand?

Blast Off didn’t explain how he imagined this, he just sat there, sighing deeply. Looking up when Blades didn’t move, Blast Off huffed, “You’re gonna do something, or do you want me to reattach you to the wall?”

“Uh, no no. I mean, yes, I’ll do something. Just,” Blades shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you want me to sit behind you?”

Blast Off tipped his head to a side. “I’m not gonna sit down on the floor so you can reach my back in case that was what you were thinking.” He vented air, making a sound that showed his irritation. “Take a cloth, some cleanser and oil from the desk and get started.”

Hearing this from Blast Off was very weird. Blades was used to hearing similar words from First Aid or Groove when they polished each other, but this wasn’t about polishing. What had the repairs to do with cleanser and oil?

Rotors twitching a few times, and Blades did as he was told. He climbed on the berth, and settled on his knees behind Blast Off. 

“The plates of my heat resistance shield need to be put back into place. You-“

“Yeah, I can see that,” Blades interrupted. It was hard not to notice with the ceramic-covered metal plates lay over one another. Not completely, but they overlapped in some places so that parts of the circuitry beneath were visible. Blades imagined a plate shift happening on some other body part. He hadn’t seen that on anyone before, and it made him frown to think how this could happen in the first place.

“Great, I’m very happy your optical input functions so well. Let me finish,” Blast Off huffed.

Blades suppressed a snarky remark. The shuttle became more annoyed with every klik. The damage on his back was probably really irritating.

“Clean the transformation seams of any filth, and use the oil as lubricant,” Blast Off said, more flatly. His shoulders tensed, and Blades saw the joints of his upper arm straining.

Looking at the back and the tiles more closely, he tried to figure out where to start.

After a soft sigh, he carefully began to clean the grime. At the first touch, Blast Off winced. Blades raised an optical ridge.

The shuttle was so tense.

“You can relax, I’m not that bad with things. Your 3D Projector works again, remember?” Blades was proud that he’d managed that, he just had to mention it again.

“My back is not a 3D Projector,” Blast Off muttered. “How did you repair it anyway?”

With the cloth Blades stroked over an exposed part of circuitry, wiping off some soil. “A linkeage was broken, really tiny. It worked again as soon as I connected it.”

“I see,” Blast Off said, thoughtfully. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

A grin built on Blades' lips, relieved that he wasn’t reprimanded for having left the couch. “Why do you need it? You can look at space all the time, right? I mean, you’re a space shuttle.”

“It’s not for just looking at it,” Blast Off answered. “It shows star maps. It helps with navigating and planning routes.”

“Oh, like an Earth globe?”

Blast Off turned his head a little, glancing over his shoulder at Blades. “I’m not really sure what that is.”

Their optics met when Blades looked up from his work. “It’s like a ball with Earth’s surface on it, with all the landscape and countries and such.”

“Uh, yes. I guess it’s similar.” Blast Off turned back, facing the wall next to the desk.

“Okay, I’m gonna start pushing the plates around.” Blades thought it was a good idea to warn the shuttle. He didn’t know if it might be painful, or if the shuttle’s tension increased even further at the more direct touch.

The first plate was easy to put back into place. Blades could hear a faint click, and the mechanisms locked it to where it belonged. The second one was equally uncomplicated, even though Blast Off hissed when the edge of the plate scraped over circuits.

Blades tried to shift the third one, but his fingers were slippery from the oil. And even when he’d cleaned his hands, the plate didn’t move an inch.

“It’s stuck,” Blades said, shuffling on the berth. 

“Try again,” Blast Off ordered in a tone that made Blades’ rotors twitch again. It wasn’t his fault the metal didn’t move.

“I tried a few times already. It’s stuck.”

“Great.” Blast Off’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. Take this, and try again.” Blast Off held out a small screwdriver to Blades.

Reluctantly, the ‘copter took it. Was he supposed to use it as handle and loosen the plate? Won’t that hurt?

He wasn’t certain of it, but he did the only thing that came to mind. Squeezing the tip of the tool between the two plates, it produced a screeching noise, and the ceramic on the lower plate cracked. 

Blades stopped mid-movement. “I’m sorry.”

Blast Off looked over his shoulder. “What happened?”

“The ceramic, it cracked. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- wait,” Blades stopped apologising and his optics widened. “You didn’t feel that?”

“It’s the heat shield,” Blast Off explained, “it’d be very bad if I felt it. Just keep going, the ceramic will be repaired soon.”

Blades nodded in confusion. His ceramic plates were numb? Did that mean he couldn’t feel anything on the heat shields on his lower arms, either?

Musing on this, Blades continued loosening the plate. The ceramic broke in a few more spots. He only paused once when Blast Off hissed again, but that was because the edge nudged a circuit board beneath.

Blades put the screw driver away, and tried to shift the plate once again. It moved now, even if slowly. Trying to push it in the right place, the short chain still attached to his cuffs clattered against the other’s back. It had to hurt the shuttle, because the already tense frame stiffened more when Blades had thought that wasn’t possible.

Suddenly, the plate jolted forward, locked into place, and Blast Off’s engine rumbled. His vocaliser gave a whine, and his energy field flared, washing over Blades' hands, all warm and with pain written in the signature.

Without his conscious intent, Blades extended his field as well with soothing sensations. He saw Blast Off’s hand clench around the edge of the berth and only realised then what he’d done.

He withdrew his hands quickly, ignoring the disappointment because of the lost warmth.

Neither of them spoke, but Blast Off got to his feet. 

Blades expected to be yelled at or sent back to the sofa, but nothing of this happened.

Blast Off rounded the berth, and went to the energon storage that Blades hadn’t been able to reach when the shuttle had been gone.

“I need a short break,” Blast Off said, as though justifying standing up.

Blades shrugged. “Sure,” he muttered, uncertainly. He didn’t want to put the shuttle off. It had only been a reflex. Maybe he should explain that.

“There’re four panels out of place, I hope none of them takes as long as the last one.” Blast Off sounded tired, but not annoyed

“Yeah, me too,” Blades shifted on the berth; it rustled beneath him.

Blast Off came back with a cube of high grade. Blades knew because of the colour. Taking one of the standard energon cubes from the desk that Blast Off had put there before he left, he gave it to the ‘copter.

“Drink. If it’s still full, you haven’t refuelled enough.” Blast Off’s tone was blank, but Blades had to smile anyway. He scolded himself inwardly for being so naïve. The shuttle just had to take care he kept functioning, it wasn't because he _actually_ cared.

And why would he want Blast Off to care anyway?

Blades took the cube, his lips still tugged up a little as he nodded in acknowledgement.

Blast Off sat back down on the side of the berth and half turned to look at Blades. “Your hands,” he said, as though Blades knew what he meant.

“Huh? What’s wrong with them?”

“The chain is unpleasant on my back, raise them,” Blast Off demanded, but already reached out to the cuffed wrists, and tugged them closer. The energon almost shorted out. Blades winced at the brief contact of black fingers on his plating as the shuttle did something he couldn’t see.

The energy stream of the cuffs stopped, revealing the metal of the chain. The chain then parted with a click from one of the rings around Blades’ wrists, and was drawn in by the other. It left the ‘copter sitting confused on the berth with only two ugly bracelets.

“Don’t you dare try something stupid,” Blast Off warned as he let go, and turned his back to Blades.

The ‘copter stared at his hands, and then back at Blast Off. Not knowing what to say, he decided not to say anything at all. The shuttle might change his mind and re-activate the restraints.

Instead, he observed the other’s back, planning the next steps of the repairs.

“Where did you go in space this time?” he asked just to change the topic, and because he wondered how Blast Off could fly into space without a functioning map.

The shuttle gave a one-sided shrug. “Nowhere, really. I’m mostly in Earth’s orbit all the time. It’s been a while since I flew farther than to the Moon.”

He sounded a little… frustrated? Blades tilted his head. The distance the Moon seemed far enough for him, but shuttleformers had a different sense for distances. He’d heard Silverbolt and Skyfire talk about that.

“Megatron sends Astrotrain to the more distant places,” Blast Off continued without query. “Onslaught thinks it’s because our past, and I guess he’s pretty much right about that.”

Blades shuffled closer to Blast Off, putting the cube down on the berth, hoping it wouldn't fall over. He remembered Jazz telling stories about Astrotrain claiming to be a god on some moon, or something. He hadn’t really listened that time.

“I’ll continue the repairs,” Blades said, placing his hands back on the tiles.

Blast Off tensed again.

“If you went further into space, wouldn’t your gestalt bond feel weird?” Blades asked, trying to distract the shuttle as well as honestly being curios.

Blast Off huffed, but remained quiet for over a klik.

The next plate slotted into its rightful place.

“We have our gestalt bond closed, except maybe Vortex. It doesn’t feel weird in space. The coding just acts up now and then.”

This time, Blades tensed. He couldn’t imagine someone cutting off his bond voluntarily, breaking the connection to his team.

“It’s odd,” Blades commented, stroking over a transformation seam between two of the repaired panels. The energy field was warm from beneath. “I never cut the bond fully until I got here.”

“You weren’t built as an individual, I don’t expect you to understand as much as I can’t relate to freely accepting a connection like that.”

Blades turned to the next metal plate. It only needed a little push.

“Yeah.” But if being an individual was being alone like Blades was without the connection, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to understand. There was no one he could turn to. “It’s like not being able to relate to different alt modes, I guess. I mean, I don’t think I can, you know, value the perks of being a shuttle if it means being away all the time.”

Blast Off puffed air from his vents; he sounded amused. “It’s not just being away.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s so much more than being away. And there are situations in which planet bounds _value_ space, too.”

“Yeah, right. Like I want to experience weightlessness in a cockpit as a hobby, no thank you.” Blades though about that one time he rode inside Skyfire. He’d nearly thrown up that day.

“That’s not quite what I meant.” Blast Off turned back.

Blades frowned. “Then I probably don’t want to know, seriously.”

With a bit force and some reckless pushing, the penultimate panel clicked back.

Blast Off winced, and grumbled. “Ouch, take better care next time.”

“Heh,” Blades uttered with a grin. “Sure thing, grumpy pants.”

“I don’t know what a grumpy pant is.”

Letting go of the shuttle's back, Blades put a hand on his shoulder and raised himself up. Glancing at Blast Off, his grin broadened. “It’s a human insult. It’s for someone who is always grumpy and in a bad mood, like, being grumpy in their pants, those leg covering humans wear.”

Blast Off turned his head. Their faces were so close, Blades could see the optics and the raised ridge behind the parted visor. He was again surprised that Blast Off’s face plates were grey, and not purple or brown like the rest of his plating.

“I could very well guess that it was a word intended to offend me, but I don’t think I understand what human leg-covering has to do with being grumpy.”

Blades shrugged. “It’s just a human expression,” he muttered, because he didn’t know what else to say, suddenly flustered.

The shuttle didn’t reply, only stared at Blades as though expecting something. Something Blades didn’t know of. Maybe he though Blades would attack him, but the screwdriver was out of reach and their energy fields were nicely warm where they touched. There was nothing threatening about it.

“I think there’s a last panel that needs repairing.” Blast Off’s voice cut through the silence. It caused Blades to tense, and his optics brightened for the fraction of an astrosecond.

“Oh, right. The last one.” He dropped back down, his hand leaving the strong shoulder. “I’m onto it.”

The final part of the repairs. After this, Blades would be done and probably be sent back to the couch until Blast Off went into recharge.

Slowly, his fingers followed the seam of the misplaced panel, tracing around it, reducing the pressure when they reached the bare circuits. Blast Off didn’t tense this time, his stature was just sunken in, radiating exhaustion.

One hand kept stroking his back, while the other pushed the plate. It slid back easily, and Blades’ disappointment increased. He clenched his jaw.

The moment the panel was back in position, all the plates shifted, a humming transformation noise sounded, and they clacked against one another without overlapping. Blades watched, not letting go of the metal completely, but hands resting lightly on it.

Once the movement stopped, Blades listened for an order to leave, or an annoyed mumble asking why Blades was still there, still touching Blast Off when he didn’t like it.

But none of that happened.

Cautiously, Blades continued.

He traced over the dark panels, the abrasive material that alternated with the smooth metal. Absentmindedly, he followed a seam. The shuttle’s energy field was stronger where no ceramic tiles covered the plating, and it was an interesting contrast.

Blast Off’s energy field didn’t give much away. Blades knew he was tired, but that wasn’t hard to tell with his slumped posture and how the shuttle had spoken earlier.

It lasted for almost a breem. Then Blast Off straightened, and his engine revved slightly. He huffed.

Without a word, he broke away from Blades' careful touches.

The heliformer couldn’t help but be upset.

Blast Off shuffled on the berth, and leant back against the wall at the head of the berth. His cube was still half full.

“I need to recharge soon. And you should too,” he said, and sipped.

Blades nodded.

“And you’re really okay with me sleeping on the berth tonight?”

“Hm.” Blast Off shrugged. “That was the deal.”

“It was, yes.” Blades shifted, sitting down close to Blast Off’s feet. “But you weren’t really happy when you first saw me in your room, so…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Another shrug of those strong shoulders, and Blast Off sighed. “Well, no one told me about this, and I’m not particularly fond of sharing my room with foreign people.”

“And you’re okay with sharing it now?”

Blast Off vented an amused huff. “No, but I've become somewhat used to you, so I tolerate your presence.”

At that Blades grinned, and stuck out his glossa. “Thank you very much, I’m very grateful.”

“Of course you are. You should be.”

Blades shifted into a more comfortable position, avoiding optical contact as he sipped from his own cube. “Aft head.”

“Hmpf. Insult me all you like, but you are still the one in cuffs. Not me.”

“Heh, but they’re deactivated and I’m not on a leash any more.”

“Insult me one more time, and you will be again,” the shuttle said, but his voice wasn’t as stern as it could be. Blades could tell the difference by now.

A calm silence fell over them.

Blast Off drank slowly from his high grade, and Blades sipped his standard energon. The heliformer glanced at the other’s legs now and then, at the wings that were there, and wondered how exactly he transformed.

He knew Blast Off was right and they should both recharge, but Blades enjoyed the company right now. He didn’t want it to end.

“So, uh,” he began, more uncertain than he intended to. “If you don’t like people in your room, why did Onslaught put me in here?”

Blast Off frowned. “I told you on the first day, because I’m the only reasonable person in my team. Except maybe for Onslaught, but acid rain will turn into cleanser before he lets an Autobot into his quarters.”

“Yeah, I kinda get that, but-“

“Would you rather have been in Vortex’ room the whole time?” Blast Off interrupted Blades, looking at him doubtfully.

The ‘copter shook his head. “Frag no, but… What would have happened if you weren’t allowed to harm me anyway?”

“Who said we weren’t allowed to harm you?”

Blades froze.

“Swindle would have probably stripped you off all the parts that aren’t needed to basically function. Brawl would have probably raped you,” – Blades shuddered as he remembered the tank attacking him – “and maybe watched human TV with you after that, and Vortex…” Blast Off stopped for a shrug. “Well, Vortex is Vortex.”

Blades stared at Blast Off. His thoughts running around the fact that no one had ever forbidden Blast Off to harm him, and that despite this freedom he’d never done it.

He eyed the shuttle up, taking in the strong frame and dark colours as well as the calm energy signature. He remembered his engine revving and the possessive growl the night he’d interfaced with Vortex, and the gentle touch to Blades' shoulder when he’d woken him up after being gone to space for so long.

“And,” Blades said, shifting, and shuffling even closer to the shuttle, “Onslaught never expected you to, you know, rape me and such?”

“I’m not into that kind of thing,” Blast Off said. Optics dimming, he slid down a little to get more comfortable. “It’s a hassle, and Ons knows that I don’t like it. How am I supposed to enjoy it when the other person involved doesn’t? I don’t get it.” He gave a brief shrug. “And as long as you follow my rules, I have no intention or reason to harm you in any way.”

Blades' optics dropped back to Blast Off’s feet as he processed the words. He remembered Swindle and Brawl invading Blast Off’s room, what he’d done to them, and that he hadn’t done anything like that to Blades. Not even after he left the couch or dared to tinker with his precious device on the desk.

“You… never thought about taking advantage?”

Blast Off gave him a long stare. Blades’ rotors twitched, and he was sure he saw the shuttle looking at them at least once.

“No, never,” Blast Off finally answered, and after a short pause, he added. “At least not about _raping_ you.”

Blast Off’s optics were fixed on Blades, and a shudder went through him. He couldn’t figure out if it was hot or cold - maybe a mixture of both that caused his rotors to tremble.

He understood the implication, even wanted to know it. He wanted Blast Off to desire him, and there was no doubt he did with the look he gave Blades.

Nothing else was said. Blast Off sipped his high grade, and Blades sat there, trying to come to terms with his own train of thought that was going in a very wrong direction.

The ‘copter shifted, trying to cover his uncertainty by getting to his knees, and then on all fours. Blades felt as though watching himself from outside as he crawled to Blast Off, straddling the shuttle’s legs.

The frame was warm, radiating the system-normal temperature that Blades’ sensors took in. It was relaxing, nice, and where Blades’ legs were close to Blast Off’s he could feel his energy signature. There was surprise in it that was very clear even though the shuttle didn’t show any sign of it in his body language.

He merely kept sitting there, watching Blades.

Once their faces were close enough for him to see the purple optics behind the visor, Blades stopped. He balanced his weight on the soft berth, careful not to touch Blast Off’s plating. Not yet.

Slowly, he raised a hand, and reached out to the shuttle’s idle arm that lay on his thigh. Observing Blast Off closely, Blades dared to stroke over the heat shield on the wrist, testing to see if it really was numb.

The surface was as cold and abrasive as the ceramic tiles on the other’s back. The sensor nodes on his fingertips sent tingles up his arm; heat and prickling anticipation that travelled through his lines and wires and had nothing to do with how the heat shield felt.

Blades glanced down.

Blast Off didn’t move.

Daring to scratch the ceramic, Blades’ fingers were rough on the surface, applied pressure, and still he didn’t get a reaction.

Looking up again, the ‘copter stroked over the full length of the shield, reaching the edge. It stood up from the arm, it was additional plating with room between arm and shield, and seemed to invite Blades to stroke its underside as well. Blast Off’s optical ridges twitched when Blades did, when his fingers found the way beneath and teased the edge. It was still a cold surface, but not as abrasive.

Blades was close enough to hear Blast Off’s everyday ventilation stutter. The sound caused warmth to surge up his spine, and made his rotors shake.

Clenching his jaw, Blades took the other’s hand. The shuttle didn’t resist, and let Blades lead it to his side, placing it on his waist where the strong fingers cupped the plating. It was a pleasant touch, a pleasant energy signature and firm hold as though to stabilise him.

That was the moment when Blades realised he wanted this. The moment Blades realised all the things Blast Off could have done and hadn’t - still didn’t. That he didn’t force anything, even if Blades almost invited him to.

“You know,” Blast Off broke the silence, his voice calm, but his energy field betrayed him. It showed that he wasn’t indifferent to what Blades did. “Even if you do this, I can’t let you leave.”

Blades’ optics widened for the fraction of an astrosecond before he regained his composure. “I know,” he said, grinning to cover his nervousness.

Blast Off huffed. But before he had the chance to reply anything, Blades closed the last distance, pressing his lips onto the other’s.

He felt Blast Off tensing for a moment, then relax once again, and the strong engine revved to a content rumble.

The shuttle returned the kiss. He tasted of high grade and something else. It was tart and unfamiliar, and Blades wanted more.

Carefully so as not to break the kiss, Blades settled down on Blast Off’s lap. Stroking the heat shield again, his hand followed the arm up to the strong shoulder while his other curled against the vents on the shuttle's chest.

Blast Off didn’t move, but his thumb brushed over Blades’ metal, over a transformation seam as his energy field flared stronger from the hand.

Blades shivered.

Blast Off’s touch was warm and safe. And Blades asked himself if he even wanted to leave.

Blast Off’s placed his other hand on the heliformer’s plating, stroked from there over Blades’ hip to his aft. Fingers tickled, invaded the metal through a transformation seam, making Blades shudder. Heat travelled from the caresses on his aft up his back, rotors twitched, and Blades’ lips parted in a silent moan against Blast Off’s.

 _Sigma_ , Blades thought when arousal washed over him like a flood. It had been way too long since someone had touched him like that.

Blades whimpered at a heavy flare of the other’s energy field. It washed over him, and made his own field waver, only to reach out. He bit Blast Off’s lower lip, and pressed closer into the rumbling engine, into those vibrations and rattling metal that was the evidence of Blast Off’s own arousal.

His next moan wasn’t silent. Blades gasped, and broke the kiss as Blast Off took hold of his rotor hub. The hand was large enough to wrap around it completely, the fingers stroking the brackets that held the blades. They traced over his swash plate, the mechanisms and the rotors, catching all the right sensor clusters.

Blades writhed, and moaned. Blast Off fingered his rotor hub in a way he’d never imagined was possible with those large hands.

Resting his forehead against Blast Off’s chest, he arched into the touch. The sound of cooling systems added to their engines working, and Blades’ field flared in embarrassment. He didn’t want the shuttle to think he was revved up like that so easily, but all the touches and caresses met sensitive spots on intimacy deprived plating.

Heat boiled within Blades, and the touch on Blast Off’s shoulder became an uncoordinated stroking before it turned into desperate scratching.

Blast Off growled. It was the same growl that Blades had heard before, only this time it was directed at him and not Vortex. A triumphant heat surged through him at that realisation. He leant up, mouthing Blast Off’s throat, moaning against the thick cables.

The shuttle didn’t stop teasing his rotor hub, kept his touches firm on alternatively his aft or interface panel, and Blades offlined his optics.

“Don’t,” he gasped, not sure if he wanted the shuttle not to stop or not to continue. He only was certain if Blast Off did the former, he’d overload even without a connection. “I ain’t gonna last,” he added under static.

Blast Off’s engine revved as he leant low. “You don’t need to hold back,” he rasped near Blades audial, extending his energy field strongly, let it surge over Blades, into his rotor hub and interface hardware.

That was almost too much. Blades’ field flared back, and sensors, sensitive from the week-long lack of caresses and touch, burnt, making Blades groan loudly. He squirmed on Blast Off’s lap, not knowing if to urge into the touch on his back or the wonderful throbbing engine in front of him.

Blast Off uttered a sound, half growl-half chuckle as he repeated the assault on the heliformer’s sensor net. The heat inside Blades increased, along with the restlessness of pre-overload. He clutched at Blast Off’s shoulder, fingers clenching, digging into a seam for purchase.

Blast Off murmured something that was unintelligible over the static in Blades’ audials. Lips brushed over the side of Blades’ helm the moment the shuttle increased the pressure on the hub, and pulled Blades closer.

Blades’ whole frame trembled. Two more waves of the shuttle’s field rolled over him, and Blades’ field tried to adapt. The signature morphed, it extended, and Blades moaned uninhibited the moment their energy fields mingled.

He was engulfed by the bliss off electricity prickling pleasurable on his plating. It pushed him over the edge.

Overload hit hard. Blades was bereft of coherent thought while the waves of pleasure caused his sensor net to scream. He shuddered in Blast Off’s grip, moaned and gasped against the shuttle’s plating as he immersed himself in the hot bliss that he hadn’t felt for so long.

It was over too soon, ebbing and pulling Blades back into the here and now, into the absurdity of the situation. Him sitting on Blast Off’s lap, still shaking, rotors quivering while their energy fields pulsed in unison as a single entity.

Blades loosened the grip on the other’s shoulder. Optics dimmed, lips trembling while curved into a drowsy grin, he glanced up. 

Blast Off’s expression was blank, but his part of the mingled energy field spoke more than any words could. The large frame was warm, and his cooling systems had activated on a low setting when Blades’ worked loudly.

Letting go of the shuttle’s shoulder and chest plating, Blades wrapped his arms around Blast Off’s neck. He pulled himself up for a needy kiss.

Blast Off returned the gesture, and the heliformer only broke away to gasp a single word against the other’s lips.

“More!”

Blast Off’s engine growled.

With a strong rush of charge into the energy field around them, Blast Off rolled them over, almost threw Blades on his back.

The ‘copter retracted his rotor hub just in time. He was pushed down, his blades pressed into the soft material of the berth, embraced by it, and it caused an unfamiliar yet highly enjoyable sensation. Blades groaned, searching for Blast Off’s mouth once again as he opened his interface panel. It slid aside under the shuttle’s large hand that gripped his side, and when the black fingers touched the sensitive rim of his port, he arched up.

Blades wrapped his arms tighter around the shuttle’s neck. He didn’t care if he appeared needy or desperate. He’d gone without for too long, and Blast Off was all there and hot and aroused, this bulk of metal that made Blades feel safe.

Moaning against Blast Off at the possessive touches, Blades’ lips formed a silent plea to connect them, and a mere astrosecond later, Blast Off did just that. Two connectors clicked into place, making Blades’ world spin. Two combiner programs resonated, nudged each other and tried to synch, only to fail. The process repeated when the programs reset, and it was strange and arousing when they collided again. The tact of their engines changed. Blast Off’s setting picked up while Blades’ slowed down briefly, as though the gestalt codings eventually succeeded and brought their settings closer to another. It also caused the shuttle’s presence to grow inside him, to crawl along wires and over circuits. It was an avalanche of sensations, where Blades could only throw his head back and squirm.

The heat inside Blades increased when he inhaled the air between their frames that was filled with the smell of unfamiliar substances. Coolant and fuel that didn’t belong to any planet-bound mech were as rich and as overwhelming as the possessive hands roving over his plating.

Blades gasped.

Blast Off’s engine rumbled.

The energy exchange picked up even more, and with it came the clearer data. Less nonsense information, but actual code, an unfamiliar, elite programming language that prodded Blades’ firewall. It tickled, causing a restlessness that Blades didn’t know how to deal with.

He clung to Blast Off, sensor net strained while the shuttle prodded deeper. Programs nudged another, and there was nothing he could do when suddenly his firewall broke. It was a shattering feeling, it made Blades’ optics flicker and the remnants of the code disrupt his processor functions as Blast Off’s presence flooded him.

It wasn’t pleasant, and for the first few moments, he wanted him out. Blades wanted it to stop, only to arch up and moan again when heat boiled and sensations he hadn’t known before swamped him. 

His optics were still online, but his vision cut out. It filled with darkness and cold washed over him, before it was drowned out by piercing heat and a feeling of disorientation. The berth under him vanished, and Blades' processor clocked faster to be able to cope with the illusion. It _was_ only an illusion. He clutched at the soft covering, fingers clenching while he clung to Blast Off with his other arm.

It was as though he was floating with only the shuttle being there, holding his hip and stroking the landing skids on his upper arm.

Blades knew it was wrong. Letting a Decepticon consume him like that, to accept his firewall being destroyed and his sensor net taken. But he didn’t want it to stop.

Having lost control over his own stream, he could only writhe and bath in the pleasure. He didn’t care how wrong it was, how much he should fight it. Blades only cared about Blast Off not stopping.

Scratching the shuttle’s back plates, Blades didn’t think they might be sore having been repaired just a short while ago. He wrapped a leg around Blast Off’s, digging his other heel into the berth.

It was so much. He needed an outlet. Sensing the berth with his foot and hand and rotor blades made his processor spin in confusion as it was told there wasn’t anything there.

Blast Off bit Blades’ neck cables, revving his engine even harder; their plating rattled, and Blades gasped. His optics brightened, and he arched his head back when Blast Off licked along his throat cables, over his chin and caught his lips again as Blades opened his mouth in a silent moan.

He sighed into the kiss, and let Blast Off’s glossa dominate his, taking in the change in the energy field as the charge rose.

Blades’ clutching became more frantic, Blast Off’s strokes more urgent. Blades’ vision filled with optical input that wasn’t his, something he’d never seen and probably would never see himself. Sparkling lights in the darkness, whirling colours and then a blasting light that was accompanied by almost brutal heat. It was as though he was melting; his rotor blades shuddered beneath him, and he wanted to move them away from the light.

He couldn’t.

More sensations added to it all. Blast Off’s hand on a blade, squeezing and stroking while the shuttle spoke near Blades’ audial. He growled, whispered all the dirty promises, his voice staticky, possessive, sending shivers through Blades.

The pleasure increased. Blades’ hold of the berth and Blast Off tightened and he begged for Blast Off to carry out on his words. He could do to him whatever he wanted. Blades _wanted_ Blast Off to do to him whatever he wanted, if it only meant it wouldn’t stop.

Pre-overload waves rolled over Blades, the feedback loop increased along with the charge in the energy field and gestalt programs resonating. His pleas became incoherent words interrupted by moans, and he didn’t bother to try to suppress them.

Blades’ second overload that night wasn’t any less intense than the first, but slower, a creeping warmth turning into heat when pleasure reached its zenith. Thoughts stopped when his processor blacked out. He didn’t realise how he sized Blast Off’s upper arm, or how he arched up, lifted his back off the berth when his joints flexed.

The shuttle’s overload firing into him shook him to his core; vibrations were conducted and pleasure flared a last time intensely. Their energy fields expanding under the impact of charge caused the dim lights in the room to flicker, but Blades couldn’t see it. His HUD was still full of fake images and real warnings of his body temperature and pressure on his rotors. His cooling fans whirled loudly, trying to stop the temperature from rising as Blast Off slumped over him.

Absent-mindedly, still in a daze of pleasure, Blades stroked the shuttle’s back. His train of thought was hazy, hard to grab with shifting images, expressions and the combiner programs still fighting for dominance. And Blast Off’s presence was filling him still. It overlapped everything, the aching gestalt bond and the sensation of being alone and cut off from his team; the destroyed firewall wasn’t important any more.

After a moment which was way too short for Blades’ taste, Blast Off rolled off him. The ‘copter’s intakes sucked in the cold air, and it was a nice contrast to his hot frame. A few warnings disappeared, but Blades didn’t want to see any of them. He offlined his optics, and stopped his processor from screaming them at him.

Neither Blast Off nor Blades spoke as they lay there next to each other, still connected but not touching. Slowly, even the gestalt programs calmed down, and then Blast Off withdrew from Blades’ systems. The ‘copter got the control over his sensor net back, the firewall rebuilt, and their energy fields parted.

It was in that moment that the realisation hit what the shuttle had done to him.

Blades switched his optics back on, staring at the ceiling. For a few astroseconds, his mind was blank, but then he knew he should be angry, infuriated at himself and Blast Off – and couldn’t be. It was stupid of him, and he scolded himself an idiot.

It was embarrassing.

But he wasn’t angry.

Blades turned his head, looking at Blast Off who also stared at the ceiling.

Blast Off disconnected them. The touch on Blades’ interface panel careful, gentle when the shuttle pulled his plug and when he took Blades’ connector out of his port. All the while it seemed the shuttle tried to avoid looking at Blades.

It was so contrary to what had happened just a few kliks ago. Contrary to the possessiveness, the claiming growls and filthy words.

Blades grinned; displacement activity that he always did when he didn’t know what else to do. There was so much to think about, but he couldn’t gather the courage to do so.

Instead, he kept looking at Blast Off, who put his arm over his face, covering it, hiding it.

More time passed.

Blast Off’s ventilation slowed down, and so did Blades’. Only then he eventually tried to break the silence.

“Blast Off?” he asked, his voice still hoarse and weirdly quiet, insecure.

The shuttle didn’t react.

Biting his lower lip, remembering how Blast Off had done so during the interface, Blades dared to edge closer to him, carefully shuffling to the idle frame. When he was close enough to sense Blast Off’s energy field, he knew he was in recharge.

Blast Off had already been tired when he’d come back, it was no surprise that had couldn’t have stayed awake any longer.

And that way, Blades had a chance to touch the shuttle again. He pressed close against the other’s side, letting his fingers follow transformation seams on Blast Off’s chest, circling the rim of the alt-mode vents, and enjoying the soothing energy signature.

Blast Off’s arm was still over his face, but Blades wasn’t brave enough to move it.

He kept lay for a few breems, forcing himself to think of nothing, before he too finally fell into recharge.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades has to deal with some surprising news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, some angst, implied smut (of the p’n’p kind), energy field play, Stockholm syndrome, Lima syndrome  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG-13

Blades woke up, exhausted and warm. His thoughts were sluggish, his limbs heavy, and he didn’t feel like moving or thinking at all.

An engine hummed next to him, the light vibrations noticeable on the fingertips of the hand that lay on the thick plating. There was touch on the small of Blades’ back, and he pressed closer to the other mech. He was about the size of Hot Spot, even bigger, and when Blades drowsily onlined his optics, he saw purple metal, not blue.

He tensed, and his memory bank caught up on him, making his optics flicker for a moment.

Blast Off, the shuttle, and Blades lay there with him for a reason.

Slowly, Blades looked down. They weren’t connected any more, but a black hand rested on his red hip. A hand that was so much larger than First Aid’s, and that Blades knew was able to completely wrap around his rotor hub. He rebooted his optical input, and craned his neck. The arm that had lain over Blast Off’s visor the night before was now idly slung around Blades.

It made him grin, and that in return confused him.

He should get up and go back to his couch before Blast Off awoke. What happened last night shouldn’t have happened, he told himself, and it should never happen again.

Blades tensed as the memories got clearer. He could feel the shuttle’s presence again, the heat it caused and the images Blast Off had shown him. He remembered Blast Off mentioning planet-bound mechs valuing certain aspects of space, and Blades now could guess what he’d meant.

He huffed, amused at himself, and hid his face against the shuttle’s side. His energy field flared without his conscious intent, touching Blast Off’s and the sensation brought back more vivid images.

It was ridiculous.

 _Blades_ was ridiculous, he knew, and he still didn’t move away. Instead he let his hand wander, trace over seams once again, and took in the shape of plates and vent rims.

Blast Off’s energy field flickered and the signature changed slightly when he showed the first signs of stirring online. Blades extended his field, on purpose this time.

It earnt him a shiver of the other’s plating, and a deep vent of intakes.

Blades bit his lower lip. Encouraged by the reaction, he sat up briefly. Carefully watching Blast Off – the visor was still dark – he rearranged himself, sitting astride on Blast Off’s thighs while he leant low. Their chest plating almost touched, and like the night before, the air the shuttle exhaled was rich of unfamiliar, intriguing scents.

Blast Off’s face plates were relaxed. Not blank or bored - there was no tension at all. Blades stared for a moment, wondering what the shuttle covered up with his usual tense expression.

Absent-mindedly, Blades slowly stroked Blast Off’s plating, following the seams of his shoulder down to the arm and back up again.

He teased the neck cables and collar rim, the metal warm under his fingers. His rotors twitched, and he extended his field again, more intensely.

Blast Off’s field answered, crackling against Blades’, and the purple visor flickered online.

Blades leant into Blast Off’s field of vision, grinning. “Morning.”

The shuttle didn’t react like Blades had hoped.

Blast Off tensed, the frame going stiff, optics brightening, and one of the large hands took hold of Blades’ arm as though wanting to push him away. The face plates tensed. “Wha-?” he uttered, but Blades didn’t let him finish. He leant forward, and pressed his lips on Blast Off’s.

Lip plates brushed over another, and Blades expanded his field, soothing sensations in the signature along with teasing arousal.

Blast Off’s engine rumbled as he returned the kiss. The large body beneath the ‘copter relaxed, but the hand remained on the arm.

“I need to get up,” Blast Off mumbled against Blades, but didn’t move or force Blades off him.

“Now?” Blades broke the kiss, nibbled along Blast Off’s jaw line to the throat cables. “You don’t wanna hold to your promise?”

The shuttle’s hand began stroking Blades’ landing skids on the arm, the other hand raised and was placed on his hip. He grinned, and it morphed into a smirk at Blast Off’s next words.

“What promise?”

Blades bit a neck cable lightly, and moved on to the other’s audial. His lips brushed against it and his energy field flared hotly. He remembered what Blast Off had said the previous night, all the words and promises he’d growled to him that had made Blades’ engine rev.

“You said you were going to make me overload so hard, I’d offline,” Blades rasped, reaching for Blast Off’s interface panel.

Blast Off’s field washed over Blades in an answering flare. His hand on the heliformer’s hip reached for a rotor and the strong engine revved hard, making Blades’ plating shudder.

\---

Blades buried his face in the covering of the berth, dizzy, enjoying the post-overload rippling sensations travelling over his frame. His fans whirled loudly, exhaling hot air through his side vents. Blades’ hold on the berth relaxed when fingers unclenched.

Blast Off leant over him, the hot gusts of air blowing over Blades’ rotors, the grip around the ‘copter’s wrists still tight, still pressing them down. The shuttle’s engine worked fast, the setting as high as the cooling system, and made their bodies shudder. Blades’ rotors twitched; he sighed.

Blades didn’t move, Blast Off didn’t either, and none of them spoke. The whirling fans, engines calming and frames pinging as they cooled down were the most prominent noises.

It lasted for about a breem.

After that, Blast Off’s engine rumbled and he leant up. Sudden chill air on Blades’ rotors made him tense for a moment, until the temperature nodes and sensor clustered adapted. 

The shuttle let go of Blades, and disconnected them. It wasn’t like the night before, and Blast Off’s presence vanished at once, leaving Blades shockingly cold.

The heliformer turned his head, seeing Blast Off sitting on the edge of the berth. The plates with the black ceramic tiles shifted, and Blades heard the ailerons click. Pulling his arms down, Blades hid his grin behind the crook of his elbow.

When Blast Off glanced back, their optics met, Blades’ brightened. Blast Off huffed, but it was hard to say in what mood he was.

Blades just told himself he was amused.

Turning back to the door, Blast Off raised his arm, probably rubbing over his face. “Frag, Onslaught’s pinging,” he muttered, “I’m going to be late.” He stood up, it looked like an effort, and Blades’ grin broadened.

He couldn’t stop feeling triumphant at having had that effect on the shuttle. Watching him leave – Blast Off glanced back a last time – Blades dimmed his optics.

He stayed on the berth, shuffling and snuggling further into the soft surface. His grin still on his face; he was sure he’d got under Blast Off’s plating.

Blades’ optics shut down when exhaustion returned. He wound down to rest before he could think about Blast Off getting under his own plating as well.

\---

Blades woke up a few hours later.

Blast Off was still gone, and Blades sighed tiredly as he shut down his optics again. If the shuttle wasn’t back yet, there was no need to get up. On the berth, unlike on the couch, Blades could fan his rotors, shuffle them and shake them out without hitting the back rest or changing his body’s centre of gravity enough to almost fall off the couch.

The berth was warm. It seemed there was some heat source within the strange material. Blades wondered how the Decepticons had energy for it, or if there was some mechanism inside. Maybe it only heated up when someone lay on there.

Why hadn’t he noticed earlier when he’d been on the berth the time Blast Off had been away for so long?

Blades fingers dug into the soft covering as he remembered, and his rotor hub went stiff. He didn’t admit it, but he hoped the shuttle would be back soon. He didn’t want to be left alone for that long again.

With a prolonged sigh, Blades sat up eventually, glancing around. It didn’t look like Blast Off had come back when he’d been asleep. There was no energon, and the screwdriver still lay on the desk.

Rubbing his upper arm, his landing skid that Blast Off had touched before - very thoroughly, as if he’d come to like them – Blades stayed on the berth for another moment.

He pinged the TV, and then stood up, switching through the programs. He didn’t really watch what aired, but enjoyed his freedom of movement. Going to the corner where behind a panel Blast Off’s energon storage was, he was tempted to try to open it.

Blades didn’t dare do it, and shook his head.

After a few kliks, Blades had visited all the spots he couldn’t have reached before, and got bored. Taking the screwdriver from the desk, he settled on the sofa.

Blades waited for Blast Off while he changed the programs in a search for something interesting. 

6 hours and 48 minutes after Blades had woken up, the door opened. Brighter light from the corridor shone in, only to be blocked out again by the shuttle’s large frame when he entered.

His battle mask hid Blast Off’s face, but Blades could read the dim visor and the tense shoulders by now. He was tired, and something more. Uncomfortable, but the heliformer couldn’t know the reason. 

Blades smiled at him, a little unsure because of Blast Off’s tension and not knowing what to say after what happened between them.

Maybe the shuttle regretted what they’d done last night – and this morning?

Blades didn’t say anything, and Blast Off kept quiet as well. He stepped towards the ‘copter, holding out his hand.

Blades put the screwdriver in, and got a half full energon cube in return. He nodded as a gesture of appreciation.

“Turn the TV off,” Blast Off ordered flatly when he went to the berth and sat down on the foot end opposite Blades. “I need to brief you about tomorrow.”

Blades tensed. He pinged the console, and the screen shut down. “Tomorrow?” he muttered, confused and dreading to have the confusion cleared up. Would Vortex ‘interrogate’ him again? Or perhaps he’d have to deal with Brawl this time, or Swindle.

Blades’ rotors twitched at the prospect of having to spend time with his attackers. Even more so after what Blast Off had told him about them.

He cupped the energon cube with both hands, and drew his legs on the sofa, putting his feet on the edge.

Blast Off withdrew his battle mask, and drank from his own cube. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to tell Blades what would happen tomorrow, and it grated.

“I didn’t expect it to be happening so soon,” Blast Off said, in a tone that Blades couldn’t decipher, “but Onslaught said we had to hurry or Megatron would become suspicious.”

Hurry with what? Blades wondered. Shifting nervously on the couch, he took a large sip himself.

“We've arranged a prisoner exchange for tomorrow. We’ll swap you for Swindle.” Blast Off’s voice was blank.

Blades didn’t know how to respond. His processor stopped working for a few astroseconds as he tried to process what it meant.

“I-“ he began, his optics flickered. “I’m gonna go home?”

“Yes.”

Blades stared. He should be relieved and looking forward to it, but all he felt was nothing.

The shuttle tilted his head. “That was not the reaction I expected, considering what a loudmouth you are.”

“Huh?” Blades’ optics flickered. “I don’t- I mean, I’m happy and, you know, stuff.” No, he wasn’t. “But I’m confused. Why now? And Swindle? When did the Autobots get him?”

Blast Off looked at him for a moment without answering. He shrugged. “In the last battle. It went as planned.”

That didn’t answer all of Blades’ questions. Rather the contrary and he was even more confused. “As planned? What do you mean as planned? Is he a spy? I don’t really… I don’t know.” Blades never took the jeep for a spy. He didn’t appear as sneaky as Jazz or Mirage.

Blast Off huffed. “Not a spy. What the frag. It’s the deal, somehow we had to cover it up.”

“Deal? What deal?” Blades put his feet down, his bewilderment slowly morphing into annoyance. “What the slag are you talking about?”

Blast Off frowned. Blades could see it behind the visor. “I was sure I told you about the deal. Well, I probably didn’t then.” The shuttle rubbed his face as he sighed.

“Probably? The frag? No.” Blades’ rotors shuffled down, hitting the cover of the couch. “You haven’t told me anything. Would you mind doing it now?”

“I was sure I had.” Blast Off shrugged. “But you knew your Autobot spy friend was here to get you, right?” At least the shuttle sounded doubtful, which gave Blades a little satisfaction.

“Jazz? I knew he was there, he commed me, but-“ The heliformers shifted on the sofa. “He said he came to do something else and get me, but then couldn’t.”

Blast Off rubbed his face. “Soundwave…”

Blades’ rotors twitched. If it hadn’t been for the Decepticon, Blades would have been home sooner, and the last twenty-four hours would never have happened.

It still didn’t make much sense to Blades. “What kind of deal did you make with the Autobots?” He remembered Jazz saying something about making up to the Combaticons, but he hadn’t mentioned how.

“You spy was meant to bring the disk, and rescue you to make it look like he was only here for you.” Blast Off eventually began to explain. “But it didn’t work, so Swindle got captured to fake a prisoner exchange, and he can bring the disk with him. That way, your scientists could change a few details in the code.”

Code? Disk?

“I think I still don’t get what kind of deal that is. What’s on that so important disk?” Blades didn’t sound antagonising on purpose, but it just grated on him that the shuttle spoke to him as though he knew everything already.

Blast Off frowned again. He vented air deeply. “My apologise, I guess. I was certain I told you,” the shuttle said, but didn’t sound apologetic at all. “I wasn’t very awake when I returned from space.”

“You mean that time when you were gone for over a week?”

“A week?” Blast Off muttered, but then shook his head. “Yes. We had to negotiate from space because of Soundwave’s communication hacking capabilities.”

“So you threatened the Autobots to kill me if you don’t get that disk with whatever on it?” Blades assumed, since the Combaticons were still Decepticons, no matter what Blast Off had told him. He felt betrayed.

“Basically, we used you as leverage to make them listen to us, but we never actually articulated a threat like that.” Blast Off drank more of the energon, seeming more tired, and continued. “And on that disk is a counter code for the loyalty program. I did tell you about that, didn’t I?”

Blades nodded, even if it looked as though Blast Off expected a vocal response.

“It’ll lock the program for now, so that we can disobey Megatron’s orders, even though we won’t do it too obviously. We arranged a... Let’s say a cooperative truce between the Autobots and ourselves.”

It was so much information, and nothing Blades had expected. He just nodded once again, just to show that he was listening. He had no idea how to reply.

“Did I answer all your questions? I think I did, but considering how fond you are of asking things…” Blast Off mumbled against the rim the cube, followed by an amused huff.

“You’re, like, spies? Or, I don’t know… are you going to kill Megatron now?”

“I knew there would be more queries.” Blast Off stood up but didn’t appear annoyed. He put his energon and the screwdriver on the desk. “Yes, sort of, and no, not yet. You don’t need to concern yourself with the details. All you need to know is that you’re going to be free tomorrow.” He turned his head to Blades for a moment, staring, the expression blank. “We’ll give you your weapons back once you've boarded me, but don’t get stupid ideas and use them. And now we need to stop talking about it. It’s not safe.”

With a sigh, Blast Off lay down. “Tomorrow will be a long day. Get some rest.” The lights dimmed and switched off at a silent command from the shuttle, leaving Blades sitting in the dark room.

His optics cast a blue light on the purple floor, and he tried to calm down and think about everything he'd just learned. Looking at the silhouette of the shuttle on the berth, he forced himself to look forward to being back at his team. But his thoughts were erratic, and nothing made sense.

Least of all him not wanting to leave.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades makes use of his last night on the Nemesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
> _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, non-graphic smut (of the p’n’p kind)  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG-13

It was hard to remember how long Blades had been down here, in this room, locked up with the shuttle being the only mech he had any contact with.

It must have been weeks, months, but it felt like years.

After the previous night and the current morning, Blades felt almost as familiar with the grumpy shuttle as he was with his team. And that was something he should have been wary of.

Blades ignored the odd feeling that happened when he thought about it, and kept looking at the sleeping mech on the berth.

Blades would be home tomorrow, back with his team, and there wouldn’t be any grumpy huffs any more, no one telling him to shut up.

No one to take the screwdriver away, and hand him energon, or fondle his rotor hub like that, almost denting his plating in pleasure by accident.

Blades shuddered at the morning's memories, and his hand found its way to his thigh, carefully stroking over the metal that Blast Off had squeezed. He remembered the pressure on it so well, it was almost like it was the shuttle’s touch on his leg once again. 

Blades shifted on the couch, and clenched his jaw.

When he was back, his team could touch him like that, they would actually care about him, and it was good. There was no reason to regret having to leave.

No, there wasn’t.

And it wasn’t as though Blades was already gone.

He got to his feet.

Blast Off had forgotten to cuff him and put the shackle back on his ankle. He was free to move, and it was probably down to him behaving well enough for Blast Off not having cared about the restraints.

He stood next to the berth. On the other side Blast Off lay, on his back with one of his legs bent and his arm over his face. The battle mask was still withdrawn from refuelling earlier, and Blades couldn’t help but like it.

He was more comfortable with seeing the shuttle’s face.

It was different with First Aid. He didn’t mind his team mate’s mask at all since he sensed enough of his expressions through the gestalt bond.

But Blades didn’t share a bond with Blast Off, and so he couldn’t know how the shuttle was. Not that seeing the other’s expression helped much, considered how inexpressive the shuttle’s face plates were most of the time.

Blades shook his head. He was thinking too much.

Carefully, so as not to wake Blast Off yet, Blades got on the berth, and edged closer. Kneeling next to the other’s large frame, he could feel the warmth that radiated from him. The shuttle’s energy field fluctuated oh-so-slightly, giving the tiniest impression of what data Blast Off processed during his defrag cycle.

Blades didn’t do anything for a long moment. And while he really wanted to, he took a few minutes until he raised his arm and put his hand lightly on the large chest, just beneath the three alt-mode vents. The mechanisms beneath made the plating thrum. It was warm, the intakes worked slowly, all the systems were wound down to save energy while the processor was preoccupied.

Shifting on the soft cover, Blades moved his fingers. His fingertips taking in all the changes in material and transformation seams as he stroked further down to the shuttle’s side. It wasn’t where the interface panel was, Blades couldn’t reach it from where he sat unless he leant over the shuttle. The slow strokes still made Blast Off react. The fluctuation in his field was a little stronger, and his ailerons clicked. 

Blades grinned, and let go Blast Off’s side. Instead he paid attention to the bent leg.

Looking at Blast Off’s blank face, Blades watched to see if it changed as he slowly slid his fingers between the aileron and leg, moving it carefully and caressing the abrasive metal. Even they were covered in ceramic tiles, and Blades wondered if the other even felt the touch when the heat shield on his lower arms were numb.

But Blast Off’s intakes exhaled deeply. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his field flared a little stronger.

Encouraged, Blades extended his own energy field, let it scrape against Blast Off’s as he applied more pressure on the aileron.

The shuttle's engine stuttered. Optics flickered behind the visor and vents hitched. Blast Off’s vocaliser produced unintelligible and incoherent mumbling, before his optical sensors eventually stabilised at a dim setting and looked at Blades.

There was no tension this time, no surprise or sign that Blast Off was uncomfortable with the heliformer sitting there.

Blades grinned. Letting go of the other’s leg and aileron, he leant down. He didn’t hesitate, and his lips found Blast Off’s for a brief kiss.

The shuttle returned the gesture, but muttered against Blades’ lip plates. “You’re not asleep.”

“Not yet.”

Blast Off’s engine hummed, but it was hard to tell if it was in displeasure. “I need to get some rest, and so do you. I-“

Blades interrupted the shuttle by pressing his lips on the other’s harder. He let his field flare, and now reached for the interface panel. “I’ll be gone tomorrow. You can get all the rest you want later.”

“No, really,” Blast Off countered, voice stern, but aside from the words, he did nothing to stop Blades. He only put a hand on the ‘copter’s hip when Blades swung a leg over Blast Off’s thighs and straddled him. “I need-“, Blast Off began anew, and Blades stopped him with an extra intense energy field pulse. He revved his own engine, and took the shuttle’s hand in his, leading it to his interface panel.

“You need me,” Blades said, daring, with a smirk. “You need to open your panel and a connection.” The image made Blades shiver, and Blast Off gasp silently. “We can make it slow, oldtimer,” he added, and earnt himself a growl.

“You can’t get enough, can you?” Blast Off grumbled, but Blades knew he wanted him. It was written in his energy signature and the possessive grip on his plating.

Blades bit Blast Off’s lower lip.

“You’re cocky.” Blast Off’s tone was blank, but there was static, and he didn’t interrupt Blades’ touches.

The ‘copter grinned when Blast Off gave in.

He didn’t push Blades away, or forced him to go back to the sofa. Blades wasn’t chained back to the wall, and the cuffs weren’t activated either.

They soon established the connection.

It was slow.

Blast Off’s hand rested on Blades’ interface panel, teased the metal there while his other hand roamed over his side, back and rotors.

Blades submitted to it. His optics dim, his own hands busy, touching as much as possible, as though trying to memorise everything that he wouldn’t be able to touch ever again. The triumph of being able to and not being told to stop was as arousing as Blast Off’s measured touches. Blades knew the strength of the other, he’d seen it, and yet again he didn’t use it on him.

Blades pressed their chests flat together, let the vibrations travel through him as he buried his face in Blast Off’s throat.

Charge crawled over them, fields buzzed and mingled. Blast Off’s stream changed slightly, and he fed Blades with data his processor couldn’t comprehend. It left him in a daze of pleasure that reached far deeper than the physical touches on his sensor nodes.

It was slow, but intense, and seemingly lasted for ages. But when overload approached, it was altogether too soon.

Climax was as sluggish as the interface, but powerful and intimate. They didn’t share a bond, though without his conscious intent, Blades let Blast Off reach deep. His firewalls shut down on their own, and the shuttle’s presence swallowed him fully. He let himself be embraced by the strength and unfamiliarity, and didn’t care about the implications.

It was as if overload lasted joors, and afterwards Blades let post-overload sensations use all his processor power. It bought him some time from the imminent guilty conscience and self-hatred that he knew would set in once he was home.

Curling his fingers against Blast Off’s shoulder, relaxing at the slow stokes on the small of his back, Blades pressed his face into the shuttle’s neck.

Blades needed to find a way to hide everything that had happened between him and Blast Off from his team.

Even more so, he needed to hide that he’d _liked_ what had happened.

\---

Blades shuddered when he stirred online. His arms were heavy, and he lay on a solid surface

A warm, solid surface with faint vibrations that were as tranquillising as the worn out feeling in his joints.

He’d have liked to go back to recharge again, but a stern voice didn’t let him.

“I know you’re awake.”

It was the shuttle. The heliformer recognised him by now, but Blades didn’t move or show any sign of having heard Blast Off.

The metal beneath Blades shifted, large vents exhaled air that blew over the ‘copter and made him squirm. His optics booted, but he let his head rest on the shuttle’s chest. He flared his field teasingly, not truly intending to initiate another interface, but the sensation of Blast Off’s field against his was nice.

Blast Off’s engine revved to a growl, causing more pleasant vibrations, but his annoyance was clear through the interface.

They were still connected?

Blades glanced down his side, and grinned drowsily

It vanished from his face the moment Blast Off’s annoyance and presence vanished from Blades’ systems. The shuttle had unplugged their connectors, making Blades sigh.

And then he grumbled in displeasure as he was shoved off the other. But it’d been so comfy.

“I don’t wanna get up,” Blades protested, and rolled to his side, showing Blast Off his back. He shuffled his rotors, and made them twitch, trying to cause a more entertaining reaction.

It never came.

“I’m going to get energon. I’ll be back in a few kliks. You better wake up before then. I’m not going to drag you to the hangar.”

The soft covering of the berth moved when Blast Off stood up. The door made the familiar click when it unlocked, and slid aside with the swoosh that so often had been almost drowned out by the noise of the TV.

A klik passed in which Blades lay still and become used to the idea of being in his own room again soon. With a window, a large TV and his own berth. With his locker and cabinet with all his personal belongings and those energon snacks he got from Wheeljack a while ago.

There would be his team, he’d be able to feel them through the bond again and talk to them and not be alone any more.

Blades really should look forward to going home.

And yet it was difficult to sit up.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades is going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst  
>  **Characters:** Blades, Blast Off, Brawl, Onslaught, Vortex, Thundercracker  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

The hallways of the Nemesis were still a maze. Everything looked the same, and Blades felt like he’d done it all before twice. Walking in chains to an unknown location, with a Combaticon behind him. It wasn’t Onslaught or Vortex this time. It was Blast Off, but he wasn’t comfortable with it at all.

“Now turn left,” the shuttle said, and Blades did as he was told and entered the indicated corridor.

There was an elevator, more hallways and more orders. The energon in his tanks, the bit he’d gotten after Blast Off had come back, made him feel queasy. Blades probably shouldn’t have drunk anything.

His bad feeling didn’t get any better when they reached a dead end. Or rather a part of the corridor that was blocked by a huge gate. Perhaps it didn’t seem so intimidating to Blast Off since the shuttle was bigger than Blades, but the heliformer had to crane his head to see the upper mechanisms of the doors.

“Hey Blast Off, wait up,” a familiar voice yelled, and Blades turned. Watching Vortex come running towards them. He tensed. He didn’t want to be with the psycho ‘copter inside the shuttle’s alt-mode.

Blast Off huffed. He went to a control console, and typed something in. “You’re not scheduled for this mission.”

At the words, Blades relaxed a little. Taking another cautious glance at the other heliformer, he only then noticed that Vortex’ rotor blades were missing. He appeared naked, for the lack of a better word, and the view made Blades wince in sympathy. That couldn’t be comfortable.

The gate opened with a loud hissing noise as the doors were drawn in. Blades’ attention shifted again, and he stared at the huge open space that was revealed before him.

In the background, Blades could hear the two Combaticons talking to each other, but the dread took over and he couldn’t make out the words. There was so much space. The hangar was even higher than the gate. On one side in the air was a railing. Someone was walking on it, but could only be heard, not seen. Blades didn’t want to go in there.

He wasn’t given a choice.

Blast Off was behind him again. His large black hand enclosed firmly around Blades’ upper arm, and he forced the heliformer to move.

With every step the nausea increased. In the huge room, surrounded by enemies, the sickness only got worse. Onslaught was there, and one of the seekers. Thundercracker looked expectantly at him, and then confused at Vortex who ran towards them.

And there was Brawl.

Blades almost stopped walking when he saw the tank, and pressed closer to Blast Off behind him. His rotors touched the shuttle’s plating, taking in the other’s energy signature, and flaring his field faintly in the hope for some support. The shuttle didn’t flare his field back.

“What’s wrong?” Blast Off muttered softly. “You’re going home.”

Maybe it was his way of reassuring Blades, the ‘copter told that himself at least, but it didn’t help with the uneasiness. Blades wanted to be back in Blast Off’s room.

Reluctantly, Blades went closer to Onslaught and the group, Blast Off close behind him, still. He was thankful for that.

“I’m only saying it again: leave,” he heard Onslaught say to Vortex. “You’re not ready for another battle.”

The red visor brightened, and the heliformers engine revved. “Frag it. It’s a slaggin’ prisoner exchange. It’s not as though the Autobots are gonna start a fight.” Vortex glanced at Blades once. “They just want their _precious_ Protectobot back.”

“Are you disobeying me?” Onslaught asked, his own engine rumbling loudly. 

“I’m not – yet,” Vortex dared. “I’m just saying that your order’s nonsen-“

Onslaught slammed his fist into Vortex’ battle mask. The ‘copter stumbled backwards, and sank to his knees, holding his covered face. Energon dripped out from the rim of the battle mask.

Blades tensed at the view, and Blast Off stopped him near Brawl. The tank watched his commander and comrade, but then turned to face Blades. His battle mask moved, but the shuttle spoke up before any sound could emerge from the other’s vocaliser.

“Brawl, behave,” he said with a low growl of his engine.

The tank raised his hands. “I ain’t doing anything. It's all good.”

Blast Off stared at his gestalt mate another moment and then let go of Blades’ arm. He turned to go further into the hangar. “Stay here,” he said before leaving , but blank words went almost unnoticed under Onslaught’s new snarl. He stared at the heliformer.

“Don’t dare me.” The gestalt leader stepped up to Vortex, and kicked out. It sent the heliformer to the ground, a pained noise leaving the vocaliser. “You can’t even take a single hit from me, and you want to go outside?”

Blades looked away, tuning his audials down. He didn’t want to see or to hear more. The Combaticons’ interactions, how they treated each other was so alien to him. It made him even more uncomfortable.

And Blast Off wasn’t there any more. Blades stood alone next to these brutal lunatics while the shuttle talked to the seeker. Blades tried to focus on them, to think about what they could possibly say to each other, and why they parted ways again.

It was a mere astrosecond before it happened that Blades realised what Blast Off was going to do.

The shuttle transformed. The root-mode looked like it fell apart, or burst, plates moved, grew and expanded. It was a deformed whirl of metal that folded together to Blast Off’s huge alt-mode.

Blades stared in awe.

He’d never watched Skyfire transform, but he doubted it’d look like this.

Distracted by the show, Blades had stopped paying attention to what was going on close to him. He jumped when someone punched his shoulder from behind. 

Swiftly, he turned his head, only to see Brawl. The battle masked moved a little, but Blades didn’t hear it with his audials still turned off.

He activated them again.

“You wanna grow roots, or what? Get going,” the tank bellowed, but it didn’t sound like a threat. It was just noisy, and the heliformer raised his optical ridges at the human expression. Blast Off had never used human idioms.

Brawl didn’t seem as though he’d attack Blades again. It even appeared as if he’d already forgot he had, and tried to start a conversation as they walked towards Blast Off’s opening rear.

“Scavenger said you watch human TV,” Brawl started loudly. “What shows do you like? I like Knight Rider. KITT’s great, isn’t he?” the tank babbled on, and Blades was confused.

A human and a car fighting crime seemed a very odd choice of show for a Decepticon to like. It didn’t help that Blades remembered what Blast Off had told him about Brawl.

“Yeah, uh,” he stammered, trying to find at least something to say. “I know that show.”

They stepped onto the ramp, Onslaught a bit behind them. Blades watched him from his peripheral vision.

Vortex was nowhere to be seen. 

Thundercracker already sat on one of the benches at the cargo hold walls.

“That show’s awesome, isn’t it? I have all the seasons on my console. We could have watched them. Well, next time.” Braw said, sounding excited and weirdly friendly and so naïve that it made Blades shudder.

“There,” the tank added, pointing at another bench, “take a seat and get comfortable. Take-off is rough.”

Blades nodded, and sat down. He leant with his back against the purple wall, and could take in the slight vibrations of the alt-mode and Blast Off’s energy field. He was about to relax a little when the tank seated next to him.

Brawl shifted a little, and looked down at him. “So,” he began anew, still in his overly loud voice and unreasonably excited. “What’s your favourite show?”

\---

Brawl hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said take-off was rough. It was as though Blast Off’s whole frame shook, and everyone inside clung to the benches.

Blades tried to keep his ventilation even. He’d offlined his optics, and imagined the rattling from the wall that conducted into his rotors was from Blast Off’s frame. From the time he’d lain on his front, with the shuttle leaning over him, chest pressing onto his rotors and the engine’s vibrations travelled into his hub. Blades told himself the vertigo of intense acceleration was the rising of charge, and he could almost feel Blast Off’s presence in his system.

It made Blades want to be back in the room, frame pressed close to the shuttle’s.

Suppressing a shiver, and hindering his field from flaring, he drew it tight to his frame.

The Combaticon tank sat to close, and Blades didn’t want him to know that he was scared, and missed the feeling of safety Blast Off gave him.

Eventually, the rattling died down, and Blast Off settled to a level speed.

The shuttle engines were loud, and no one spoke. The onboard speakers crackled before they announced the ETA of 2 breems.

Blades looked up. Six cameras eyes roved through the cargo hold, he faced one, but kept quiet.

He didn’t know where the exchange would be, but Blast Off had to fly at a very high velocity if it only took that little time.

It was a weird atmosphere, and Blades focused on Blast Off’s signature as he stared at the floor. From the corner of his optics, he perceived movement. Onslaught stood up, and went to the seeker.

“Thundercracker,” the commander started in a stern, business like voice.

Blades wondered what they needed to talk about. Where they planning to attack the Autobots? But this wouldn’t be right. They had this deal, and-

“Hey, pssst,” Brawl interrupted Blades’ train of thought and caused him to look up.

“Here,” the tank nudged him with his elbow. His hand on the bench, a gun beneath it. “Take it.”

It was Blades’ gun. “What-?”

“You get you weapons back. Flyboy over there just mustn’t know. Now take it and put it away.”

Carefully, and hopefully not too obviously with his hands still in cuffs, Blades took his gun, and stored it away.

“And now this,” the tank surprisingly quietly whispered. He shoved a grey box to him, smaller than Blades hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the deactivator thingy for the jamming thingy under your plating. You medic will know how to use it. At least that’s what Ons said.”

Blades looked at Brawl, then at Onslaught, and back at the box. It was an effort to make it like he was scratching his hip, but he managed to hide it away.

Blast Off’s engine gave a rev, the floor shuddered and Blades tensed. Glancing up at a camera, he saw how Thundercracker was looking around, but the seeker’s optics weren’t on Blades or Brawl. 

“Heh,” Brawl laughed loudly, making Blades wince. “So, you haven’t answered my question. What’s your favourite show?”

\---

The decrease in speed was noticeable in the cargo hold. Blades sensed the change even in the shuttle’s energy signature that radiated from the wall and made his rotors shudder once.

The tact of the huge shuttle engines slowed, and the thrusters became quieter. A jolt went through the vessel, and caused Blades to wince.

Loud hydraulic mechanisms worked as the cargo hold door opened. The ramp hadn’t even hit the ground when Onslaught stood up.

“Let’s move” he ordered, nodding towards the exit.

Brawl got to his feet. Without a word, he grabbed Blades’ arm, and dragged him up, and out of the shuttle. Thundercracker followed them. Onslaught was the last one to come. Blades saw the commander patting Blast Off’s wall twice before he jumped down.

Watching Blast Off transforming back to root-mode was equally mesmerising as to shuttle mode. Everything pulsated and shrunk. Huge wings and thrusters vanished and only the bulky stature of the shuttleformer remained. He didn’t stretch, or roll his shoulders. Nothing of that sort what other mechs sometimes did after being back in robot-mode. He just crossed the distance to them, and leant on a boulder, arms crossed.

Blades looked around. The tank’s hand was still on his upper arm, but he didn’t dare complain. It wasn’t what made him most uncomfortable in this steppe-like area. It even provided something like an anchor in this free space. The sky was clear, no cloud hanging over their heads, and no birds flew above them. The sky was all blue, the landscape dry and dusty, with no one around but the three Decepticons and himself.

Blades’ joints went stiff. He wanted to be back inside. Just somewhere with a roof over his head and walls around him.

“We’re too early,” Brawl muttered, and shifted his weight from one food to the other. “I don’t like waiting.”

Thundercracker next to them huffed; he kept quiet, though.

“Hey, Ons,” the tank bellowed, making Blades flinch. The mech was so noisy, almost as if his own audials were broken.

“Be quiet Brawl, and keep your focus.” Onslaught’s voice was stern. He turned to the shuttle. “Blast Off?” was all he asked.

Blades glanced at him.

“My scanners are clear. We’re alone for now.”

Onslaught nodded, and sat down on a dead, fallen tree log.

Shifting on his feet like Brawl had done before, Blades couldn’t help but be impressed by Onslaught’s and Blast Off’s interactions. They seemed to understand each other without many words, or any words at all. It made him wonder if they maybe did have their gestalt bond open. And there was a gnawing sensation of anger that caused a tingling in Blades’ elbows. A sensation he sometimes had when Springer talked to First Aid and there was flustered joy in the gestalt void. 

It didn’t make sense now. There was no reason, because he still couldn’t feel his gestalt, let alone see Springer talking to the medic.

Blades’ field flared in confused annoyance, his engine stuttered in a suppressed rev.

Brawl looked at him. “Huh?” the tank uttered, but didn’t have the opportunity to ask.

Blast Off looked up, staring into the seemingly empty sky. “They’re on their way. The shuttle is with them.”

Blades craned his head. Skyfire? If the scientist flew there, maybe it meant his team would come, too.

His rotors twitched when the brackets went stiff. He’d see his team again. After so long.

Carefully, he touched his thigh under whose plating he’d hid the jammer deactivator. He’d give it to Aid as soon as he had the chance.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught Blades’ attention, and he turned his head again to Blast Off who’d stood up. Only astroseconds later, the sound of Skyfire’s engine filled the air, and finally there was the relief and anticipation of being back home again.

From then on, it was like being in trance. Like watching events unfold through mist.

Skyfire transformed after the Protectobots, Ratchet, Optimus Prime and Swindle exited the other shuttle.

Blades didn’t ask why Prime was there and Megatron wasn’t when the Autobot leader and the senior medic with the Combaticon in chains came to Onslaught.

Words were exchanged and tension was noticeable in the air, but Blades didn’t pay it any attention.

Eventually, Brawl let go of him, Ratchet said something and patted Blades’ back. It was then that Blades saw Ratchet had his weapon ready.

But they didn’t need it.

Quickly, they walked to Skyfire and the waiting Protectobots, Onslaught’s voice behind them growling in anger at Swindle.

But Blades couldn’t care less. He let his team hug him, teasing him with gentle comments, and they still felt so far away with the jammer active. He relaxed in Hot Spot’s arms, taking in the familiar energy signatures and stenches. It was as though all the tension and stress from the last weeks, months even, fell from him, and exhaustion took over. He couldn’t wait to be back at their base.

The noise of a shuttle engine drowned out Blades’ team’s chatter for a moment, and he turned his head.

Blast Off took off, his thrusters lightening up the sky for a moment.

Blades sighed. He’d have liked to have said goodbye.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blades has to deal with the aftermath of his imprisonment and liaison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty
> 
>  _This Chapter_  
>  **Warnings:** crack, angst, dark, PTSD, implied smut (of the p’n’p kind)  
>  **Characters:** Blades, First Aid, Blast Off, mentions of others  
>  **Rating (Chapter):** PG

Blades sat on the chair in his room, looking out of the window. The streets were crowded, full of busy humans that walked, ran or drove by quickly.

It was loud.

Even if Blades couldn’t hear anything, the walls being too thick, the hectic life he saw made him uneasy.

It was annoying.

There was nothing to distract him since he wasn’t allowed back on active duty. That irritated him the most. He’d been free for two weeks now, he was fine. There was no reason for him to be treated like he’d lost his leg or his laser core almost burnt out.

The jammer that had blocked his bond was gone, and even the lock that the Decepticons had welded on his rotor sword had been removed.

Blades reached behind him at his back, at the bracket that had to be replaced. Two fingers stroked over it, he couldn’t touch it with more, he wasn’t flexible enough. It wasn’t sore anymore.

Withdrawing his hand, a tiny grin flashed over his face when he remembered Blast Off trying to repair his back, and how impossible it’d been.

The grin faded soon when his mind wandered back to why he sat here, trapped yet in another room.

He wasn’t damaged, there was no reason not being allowed on duty.

But Ratchet and Hoist said otherwise, urged him to talk to them of what had happened on the Nemesis.

There was nothing he could tell. Nothing had happened.

At least nothing he wanted to talk about.

He’d already told them a few things. How he was attacked by Blast Off’s team mates, and how the shuttle had helped him. Or about the fake interrogation, and Blast Off letting him take a shower, and giving him energon every day.

The two medics had looked at Blades blankly. It was another blankness than the one on Blast Off’s face, and it had caused a gnawing discomfort. He’d decided not to say anything any more. There wasn’t much else to tell anyway. Nothing that they were allowed to know.

Blades drew his legs close and rested his chin on his knees, not staring at the busy humans outside any longer.

He didn’t want Ratchet or Hoist to know why he hadn’t been intimate with any of his team since he’d been back. He didn’t want to tell them what he’d done with the enemy.

Blast Off and the Combaticons might not be enemies any more, but they had been at the time. And Blades couldn’t let them know that nothing they’d done was forced on him.

Thankfully his team didn’t push him, but Blades didn’t expect them to understand.

He sighed, and felt guilty. Sigma knew he did. It was the reason he hadn’t connected to any of his team yet. He couldn’t bear to see their disappointed faces, or even worse, their disgust, once they found out. Once they knew what Blades had done of his own free will.

He hated himself that he’d wanted it at that point. That he’d enjoyed it that much, but this was something he had to come to terms with himself without the others knowing.

Blades huffed.

If only his team and the medics wouldn’t look at him as if he was about to break any astrosecond. If they just stopped questioning him about his well-being every time they saw him.

Blades was okay.

He just could recharge better with a screwdriver in his hand. And he wasn’t unwell just because he didn’t fly as often as he used to. Just because Blades didn’t feel like going out didn’t mean he was sick.

It wasn’t as though the Combaticons had infected him with some sort of virus or something.

He was fine.

\---

“I missed you,” First Aid said, and shuffled closer.

Blades forced himself to smile.

First Aid had asked him to recharge in Blades’ room, because they hadn’t been close for what seemed like ages. The heliformer had agreed, hoping giving in to the request would make everyone stop being so worried about him.

The screwdriver lay on Blades’ berthside table, but he was okay. He knew it was there, and First Aid would only ask questions if he held it while sleeping. Instead, he’d laid his arm over First Aids hip, relaxing at the familiarity. Maybe Blades should have done this much earlier.

The medic was warm, the energy field tentatively fluctuating with soothing sensations. Blades’ forced smile became genuine, and he offlined his optics. His own energy signature changed, and calmed. It was quiet, only the hum of their systems was audible, and the buzz of the near-by subway.

There was no one in the hallway outside. At least Blades couldn’t hear steps, which was a good thing. It meant no one else was coming in, and he was safe.

First Aid put his forehead on Blades’ chest, and curled his fingers against his plating.

“I was so happy when they let you go,” First Aid added. “And even more when the jammer on you was deactivated. I missed your presence.” The medic’s field flared slightly, and Blades clenched his jaw. 

He tried not to think of the other’s words as a hint to Blades not always having his gestalt bond open now - even with the jammer gone. He didn’t trust himself not to let some of his guilt enter the gestalt void, and so he sometimes closed himself off.

It still felt as though Blades should say something. “I missed all of you, too,” he mumbled against First Aid’s helm.

“The team has tomorrow off,” the medic said softly, “I mean, if there’s not an emergency. But maybe we can do something together? As a team? We haven’t done that for so long.”

“Yeah,” Blades mumbled, and wanted to add more, but clatter in the hallway made him tense.

“Maybe we can go for a drive, or flight. Hound showed Groove a nice place near the city,” First Aid pondered as he pressed closer, probably sensing Blades’ tension.

The heliformer nodded, but didn’t truly listen. He tried to focus on the noises outside - if there were steps, or people talking.

First Aid babbled on. It was only static in his audials when he paid attention to something else. He frowned. It was difficult to hear if there was really chatter outside, or just his imagination. If only First Aid would be quiet for a moment.

Blades was tempted to get the screwdriver.

“And? What do you think?” First Aid asked.

Someone outside laughed.

Blades’ engine revved.

“Be quiet, for frag’s sake!” he hissed at First Aid, only now realising how tense he was. His hand was clenched to a fist, so tight that his finger joints started hurting.

First Aid’s field flickered in surprise and disappointment, and Blades instantly felt guilty.

It was completely silent in the hallway.

“I-,” Blades stuttered, “I’m sorry.”

First Aid didn’t move, and neither did Blades. The medic’s silence made the heliformer even more uncomfortable.

“I thought, I mean, I kinda wasn’t sure if there was someone outside. I… in the hallway. I’m sorry,” he tried to explain.

“It’s okay,” First Aid replied, but it sounded forced. The energy field was drawn tight, and Blades could hardly read any emotions in it.

Slowly, Blades closed the gestalt bond, and rolled over to his other side. He could see the door this way, and take the screwdriver without being looked at weirdly.

From behind, First Aid pressed close. Blades sensed him shiver.

It took hours until he fell asleep.

\---

The next morning was awkward. Blades woke up but felt like he hadn’t recharged at all and First Aid was still asleep. Moving carefully, he put the screwdriver away and sat up.

The guilt crept back, and Blades sighed. Patting First Aid’s helm, he watched him sleep.

It was sort of okay for now, as long as he didn’t need to explain himself, but if Blades was honest, he’d have liked to be somewhere else. If he left now, though, the medic would be hurt even more, and that wouldn’t be fair. Blades knew he should apologise.

He didn’t pay attention to the time passing by, but eventually, First Aid stirred. He lay there a moment before he sat up quietly.

Blades had thought about what to say to First Aid since he’d woken up, and hoped his choice of words didn’t backfire at him.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he spoke up, not letting First Aid say something first. “I sometimes forget I’m back home.” It wasn’t really a lie, but Blades wasn’t completely honest either. It was just that he had to get used to their base again.

First Aid still was worried. The mask hid the face, and the visor made it hard to see the optics, but the bond Blades had opened up again made it clear.

But he also felt First Aid smiling reassuringly, even if he couldn’t see it.

“It’s okay,” the medic said. “It must have been a hard time.”

Blades wasn’t sure what was the right reply to that. He shrugged, as though it hadn’t been too bad, and muttered a “yeah, sorta.”

“You know you can always talk to us, don’t you?”

Blades gave a brief nod. He knew, of course, but he doubted his team would be very happy if they knew _how_ he’d spent his time with the Combaticon shuttle.

“I think I’m going flying a bit.” Blades flexed his rotors. If his whole team had a day off today, he was sure they’d pester him all the time. He's rather be outside, even though the open sky was like a heavy weight on his blades, than with his team trying to act normal around him when they thought he’d break apart.

First Aid’s shoulder slumped. “Oh. Okay,” he uttered, and Blades felt bad.

Frag, the heliformer thought, and First Aid’s disappointment hurt more than Blades had expected. “I’ll be back in the afternoon at the latest?” he suggested, hoping for a positive reaction. “We can have a video night later? I’d really like to have a movie night with you all.” And it was true, Blades realised. Just sitting together would be nice. With a movie running, no one would look at him, and no one would ask him question he didn’t want to answer. They’d just sit there, cuddling maybe, and just be together.

First Aid was smiling now behind the mask, and agreed via gestalt bond. “I’ll ask the others. Any specific movies you wanna watch?”

Blades stood up. He shrugged. “Not really, I think. No, wait!” His expression lightened up. “Ghostbusters! And Back to the Future.”

“But haven’t you seen those too many times already?”

“You can never watch Ghostbusters too often!” Blades insisted, and felt like his old self again. He patted First Aid on the helm, and grinned honestly for the first time in a long while. “Gotta go now.”

Blades was about to turn when First Aid said, “Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid,” in a voice that lacked the usual teasing note.

Blades ignored it, and flashed another grin. “I promise I won’t get into trouble with Decepticons.”

Frist Aid smiled back as Blades left the room.

\---

Blades needed a moment to collect himself before he was able to take off.

The weather was nice, the wind not too strong, and the sun was pleasant. There was no fog or mist, and he could see for miles.

But that was the scariest part.

With no walls around him, Blades felt weirdly threatened. The sky pushed down on his rotors, and he struggled to keep his altitude even.

Once he’d left the urban area and even the last rural home passed beneath him, he’d already flown for miles. He was back over a dry plain, and dared offline his optical sensors.

Blades let the wind tickle his sensors, let the information about air pressure and moisture be processed, and stopped thinking.

It was rather nice, and Blades hoped he’d be able to find the joy again of flying and being outside.

Activating his optical input, he was in an unfamiliar area. There was a rocky plateau, and an almost dried up lake.

And of all the mechs he could see out there, there had to be a purple shuttle sitting on a place next to a rocky wall and the lake.

Blades’ engine stuttered, and he tumbled slightly mid-air at the shock.

He didn’t think for an astrosecond that it was the triple changer shuttle there. After checking his coordinates, he knew the old Combaticon base had been relatively close – for shuttle standards. Way closer than the ocean where the Nemesis lay anyway.

Before Blades could think about his actions, he landed close to the bulk of metal. His wires tingled in anger and annoyance.

“Hey!” Blades shouted when there was no reaction from the other. He took out his gun, just in case.

The shuttle still ignored him, so Blades walked up to his side, taking a rock from the ground. With as much force as he could muster, Blades threw it against the purple plating.

“Hey, aft-head! Don’t act like I’m not here!” Blades’ anger increased, and he couldn’t really say why.

Finally the shuttle engine rumbled once, and then Blast Off transformed.

Blades didn’t allow himself to be awestruck by the view.

The distance to Blast Off increased with him shrinking down to root-mode, but the heliformer resisted going closer. He just started yelling. “What the frag are you doing here?”

Blast Off walked up to him, seemingly not caring at all about the Protectobot’s mood. “Good morning to you, too. You threw a rock at me and woke me up.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Blades said and raised his gun. They were a few steps apart, and Blades didn’t want the shuttle near him. “I asked you something. What the frag are you doing here? Are you following me now?”

Blast Off tilted his head. His visor lit up once, and he shrugged. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“You’re here!” Blades’ thoughts were erratic. He just made up with First Aid, kind of, and now the shuttle was there in front of him. Blades just got used to flying again, and now this. He didn’t know how to deal with it all.

“So are you. I don’t understand what’s the problem,” Blast Off replied flatly, and stepped closer.

“Stop there. I’ll shoot you.” Blades waved his weapon. “And you haven’t answered my question! Are you following me now? Wasn’t it enough to lock me away underwater for ages?”

Blast Off seemed taken aback. “I don’t-“

“Wasn’t it enough that you made my team think I’m broken? For frag’s sake, why are you here?!” Blades interrupted him. “I’m not allowed on active duty because you needed some _leverage_ for your stupid deal and your stupid loyalty program slag. I’m- stay there I said!” Blades stopped mid-sentence when the shuttle came closer once again.

“Put the gun away,” he said calmly, not appearing to feel threatened at all.

“And then what?” Blades spat. “You gonna kidnap me again?”

“ _I_ never kidnapped you.” Blast Off said, and Blades hated that he was right. It had been the shuttle’s team mates that had taken him that day months ago.

“Calm down,” the shuttle added. “We’re not enemies any more.”

“Frag we aren't,” Blades insisted. “And even if we’re maybe not any more, it’s personal.”

“Well,” Blast Off huffed, being amused of all things. “You didn’t seem to mind my person before.”

Now it was Blades’ turn to be taken-aback. It was the second to regain his composure again that made him react too late. There was nothing he could do when Blast Off activated his thrusters and flew towards him. A large hand enclosed around the heliformer’s wrist, the other placed on his chest as he was pushed against the rock wall behind him.

Blades’ rotors shuddered at the impact, but it didn’t hurt. He held his gun tight, as though it’d help him fight back. But with his hand forced against the rock, too, he had no way of pointing it at the shuttle again.

“Let me go,” Blades demanded, uncertain if he was more afraid of what Blast Off might do to him, or himself not feeling the urge to struggle.

The shuttle’s energy signature was as warm as the dark plating, heated up from the sun. It all was familiar, and Blades tried to hate it as he stared antagonisingly at the purple chest.

“I’m not here because of you. I come here often,” Blast Off began, his hand on Blades’ torso moved up to his face, and with light pressure made him look at the shuttle. Blast Off withdrew his battle mask, and continued. “But I have to admit you dropping by is a nice change.”

Blades expected Blast Off to lean down, or at least to let his field flare slightly, but it didn’t happen.

“You can let go of your weapon,” Blast Off suggested, and Blades was again surprised at how careful the shuttle was. Just like all the days before, Blast Off didn’t use the strength he possessed.

Blades wondered if he’d let him go if he asked for it, but hindered himself from finding out and said instead, “I’m not stupid. I won't disarm myself in front of a Decepticon.”

He kept the grip on his gun tight.

“I’m not a Decepticon.”

Blades huffed, his optics roving over Blast Off’s face plates, searching the expression for something sinister. There was nothing.

He let his gun drop down, even though he knew it was the wrong thing to do.

They stood there for another moment.

Then Blades flared his field, and he knew that was even worse. Just slightly at first, then stronger when nothing happened.

Keeping it up, he didn’t dare do anything else or say something that’d came out needy and wrong. Despite the other’s words, it seemed even Blast Off didn’t want him any more. He’d interpreted it all wrong.

His lips pressed together to a thin line, Blades’ optics dropped back to Blast Off’s chest, dimming in disappointment.

It was then that Blast Off finally leant in, pressing his lip plates on Blades’, making the heliformer sigh and relax.

Right, they weren’t enemies any more.

Blast Off let go of his wrist, placing his hand on Blades’ side when the heliformer wrapped his free arm around the other’s neck.

Blades felt safe, as he hadn't done for days.


End file.
